The Human Body
by Waldo
Summary: Not every relationship starts with a bang. Sometimes they take time and patience and the occasional intervening friend. Story Nine postMichael now posted. Chapter 7 merits rating change to M.
1. A Pain in the Ass

**Title**: The Human Body, Part I: A Pain in the Ass  
**Author**: Waldo.  
**Rating**: PG  
**Words**: 4210  
**Pairing**: pre-Sheppard/Beckett  
**Spoilers**: None, set somewhere nebulously near the end of season 1. When they still had time to go trooping around on planets, just for 'fun.'  
**Summary**: Carson finally gets the flu that had been going around. Of course he's off-world when it happens.  
**A/N**: Scap3goat did the beta for this one, so many thanks to her. This is the first story in the "Human Body Series". I've written some SG-1 in the past, but this is my first SGA story, so feedback of all kinds would be absolutely lovely. Thanks!

**The Human Body, Part I  
A Pain in the Ass  
by: Waldo. **

John set up the Sterno burner and and began dumping MRE stew into a camp pot. Rodney and Teyla would be back soon, Carson and Ford had returned to their base of operations with him a few minutes ago and Ford was setting up a campfire. Dr. Beckett was sitting in front of the stone fire ring, head in his hands, staring at the start of the fire.

"Using a firestarter is cheating, Lieutenant. Don't tell me you can't light a fire without one," John hollered from where he was stirring the stew.

"I can," Ford protested immediately. "But if I don't have to, I don't see the need to aggravate myself. Look, that day that Boughman and I helped find that kid who wandered off from the Athosian settlement, his mother wanted to thank us. So we each got a dozen candles. What are we going to do with candles? Other than make firestarters?"

"What, you don't need to hang on to them so you can seduce Dr. Hillary Ashman? Don't think I haven't seen the two of you in the mess. And in the hall and in the gym –"

"Okay, okay!" Ford relented. "Besides, when you came into the gym, it was strictly professional. I'm teaching her some of the advanced hand to hand techniques."

"So what were you doing on that balcony? Advanced hand to –"

"Hey now! You're only picking on me because I'm the one guy on the team who actually has a sex life." He glanced up to where Carson was still sitting staring at the embryotic fire. He raised his eyebrows suggestively at Sheppard.

"Hey!" Sheppard yelled in warning, looking to see if Carson was paying any attention. He debated using a well-aimed glob of still-cold stew to change the subject. Aiden had sworn not to be 'helpful', and one of the conditions of John telling him about his infatuation was that he was never, ever to bring it up, even obliquely, when anyone else was around. Especially the infatuation in question.

Aiden smirked and went back to fanning the fire. He glanced up at Carson. "You cold, Doc?" He'd noticed the way Carson had his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them a while ago, but now that he really looked, he could see that he was shivering.

John's head snapped up.

"I'm fine," Carson said, looking up to offer Aiden a small smile for his concern.

Ford looked at John and they both glanced back to the doctor, whose head was already back on his knees. Neither of them believed him.

John stirred the stew. "Dinner will be ready soon. If you just want to eat and crash, that's cool. Ford and I can wait for McKay and Teyla."

Carson turned his head on his arms to look over at John. "If it's all the same to you, Major, I'm not all that hungry."

Sheppard cocked his head. They'd been busy all day, searching for decent veins of Naquadah that they could use to build more generators for Atlantis. Not life or death, running from the Wraith kind of busy, but enough that even MRE stew was starting to sound good to John. "I know it's not Atlantis' finest dining, but we have to have covered over forty miles today on foot."

Ford was studiously staying out of the conversation, letting Sheppard be the one to call the doc a liar.

"I know. But I'm really not too hungry," was all Carson said.

John shrugged but didn't argue any more. "Ford, keep this stuff from burning to the bottom of the pot." He left the spoon he'd been stirring it with in it and got up. He moved to the pile of their gear on the FRED and rummaged around until he found Carson's pack. He unlatched the sleeping bag and brought it over to the fire. "Here," he said putting the rolled up bag next to Beckett. "Why don't you lay down on this for a few minutes and I'll set up one of the tents."

Carson let Sheppard tip him over and he settled against the sleeping bag, grateful to be lying down.

John could feel the heat coming off Becket through his uniform jacket. "You've got a fever!" he announced. "Do I need to send Ford back to the gate to get someone to come through with a jumper to get you home?"

Carson shook his head. "It's nothing serious. Just that damn bug that went around a couple of weeks ago. Fever, nausea, headache, muscle aches… nothing serious. And not much to be done for it."

"With a virus, you treat the symptoms, right?" Sheppard asked sitting on the ground next to him. "Did you take any aspirin or anything for the fever?"

Carson nodded against the sleeping bad. "Aye, when we stopped for lunch I took a couple of Tylenol."

John bit back a rather sharp remark about him continuing to hike for so long after he'd started feeling unwell. He turned back to their gear, and said instead, "Well, I think they've worn off. Let me see what's in my first aid kit."

John was digging through his pack when Teyla and Rodney approached the camp. He glanced up. "There's stew," he said when they neared him.

Rodney perked up. "Stew!" He made a bee-line for the camp kit Ford was watching. With a bowl in hand he looked up and saw Carson lying in front of the fire. "See, that's the problem with people who don't go off-world very often. A little walk in the woods does them in."

Ford wondered if Sheppard meant to sound so menacing when he grumbled, "Leave him alone, McKay."

Fork half-way to his mouth, McKay turned to glare at Sheppard. "I'm just kidding," he said slowly as if he couldn't believe they didn't know that already.

"He's a little under the weather. Leave him alone," John repeated, finally finding the Tylenol in his own first aid kit and grabbing his canteen.

"Should we not take him back to Atlantis?" Teyla asked, accepting her own bowl of stew.

"He doesn't want to go. Maybe the fresh air will be good for him. He'll let us know if it gets serious," John raised his voice, even though he was sure Carson was listening. "Won't you, Doc?"

"Aye," Carson muttered from where he lay. "I will, but seriously, I just need some rest."

John sat down on ground next to Carson's head. "Here." He held out the two pills and when Carson had taken them he unscrewed the cap to his canteen. He helped Carson sit up enough to swallow the pills without choking.

"Physician, heal thyself," Rodney quoted.

"McKay," Sheppard warned.

McKay glared back at him, "Okay, okay, geez."

"Ford, save me some of that stew, I'm going to set up one of the tents for the doc."

Carson turned over. "Don't bother. Really, I'd rather stay by the fire. Thank you anyway."

John dropped the pack he'd already been disassembling. "You sure? We've got to set them up anyway."

"I'm sure. It's warmer over here."

John shrugged and made his way back to the fire, taking the bowl Ford handed him. "If you've got a fever…" he wondered out loud.

"Seriously, Major, I appreciate your concern, but I _am_ the doctor here. I'm fine without dinner, I'm fine without a tent and I'm fine by the fire. Now you've been very studiously keeping everyone else from bothering me -" Carson cut himself off. "I'm sorry. Oh bloody hell. I don't know where that came from. I'm sorry."

John sat down next to him. "It came from you being sick and me being a pain in the ass," he smiled to take the sting out of it and felt relieved when Carson smiled at him.

Everyone was quiet while they finished eating and Teyla and Ford cleaned up the campsite. When all the dishes had been accumulated, Teyla volunteered herself and Rodney to walk to the river a couple hundred meters away. John had tossed his canteen to Rodney as they collected everything. "Here, fill this, would ya?" Twilight was setting in as they hiked out of the prairie they were camped in and headed for the treeline.

Carson was tossing and turning as if he couldn't get comfortable on the ground any more.

"You okay?" John asked, risking being yelled again.

Before he could answer, Carson jumped up and headed for the trees, about forty-five degrees north of the direction Teyla and McKay had gone with the dishes, as fast as he could move with a body that was clearly in rebellion.

When Sheppard figured out what was happening, he stood up as well. "Ford, give me your canteen."

Without asking questions, Ford followed orders and watched as Sheppard chased the doctor into the woods.

Carson was leaning on the first tree he'd come to, barely avoiding his own shoes as he retched. He was dry-heaving by the time Sheppard caught up to him.

John threw the strap to the canteen over his shoulder and reached out to catch Carson as he wavered. "Hey, hey, hey… easy."

Carson looked both mortified at having an audience and grateful for some assistance. He wasn't sure he was up to walking back to the campsite on his own.

"Come here." John wrapped his other arm around Carson's waist and led him over to another tree a few meters away and propped him up. "Here, rinse out your mouth." John didn't take his hand off Carson's arm as Carson did as he was told. Unfortunately the water set off another round and John found himself dropping to the ground with Dr. Beckett as the man heaved again and again.

John rubbed his back through his jacket and pulled the occasional stray lock of sweaty hair out of Carson's face. "Take it easy."

Carson just nodded, clearly not having the strength for much more.

John set the canteen next to him. "The water's here if you think you're up for it." He returned his hand to Carson's back, hoping that the gentle circles he'd been rubbing were helping. He put the back of his other hand against Carson's cheek the way his mother had when he'd been sick as a kid. "You're still a little warm. You sure you shouldn't go back to Atlantis? Have one of your guys give you a going over?"

"It's just the damn flu," Carson finally managed to say. "And honestly, if I go back to that infirmary, someone's going to overlook the fact that I'm fairly well useless right now and ask me to 'just look at this one thing'. I won't get any rest there. I promise, if I get bad enough to need I.V. fluids or something, I'll let you know. But right now, I'd really, really like to just curl up in my sleeping bag and try to rest."

John didn't look happy about it, but he let Carson diagnose himself and nodded. "All right. Your stomach done?"

"Aye, more than done." He rubbed one hand across his protesting abdominal muscles.

John picked up the canteen and helped Carson stand. When Carson's hand went straight to his head and he started to lean, John pulled him in and held him close against his own body. "Doc?"

"Dizzy, is all. It'll pass in a minute." True to his words, Carson pulled himself up a little straighter after a moment and nodded, but didn't try to dislodge the supporting arm around his back. "Alright then."

"All right, then," John agreed and they made their way back to camp.

"Sit here," John instructed as they got back to the fire. He undid the elastic ties on Carson's sleeping bag. "You're sure you don't want to sleep in a tent?" he asked.

"It's not going to rain, is it?" Carson asked without breaking his intent stare into the fire.

"Not that I know of."

"Then I'll stay out here. It's a really nice night, actually."

John spread out Carson's sleeping bag next to the fire and thought about what he'd said. It was actually a good fifteen degrees cooler than it had been during the day, so if Carson wasn't complaining of feeling cold any more, his fever must have broken. He wondered if that might have been what had precipitated the vomiting. He'd been warm while they were out in the woods, but now that he thought about it, it wasn't the searing heat that he'd felt through his jacket earlier. "Here you go."

Carson scooted to his bag and sat on the end where John had unzipped it part way for him and unlaced his boots. He kicked them off and turned around and gratefully pulled the bag closed around him. He was reasonably certain that his fever was abating, but his stomach was still rebelling. He made a face, wishing that he'd been more able to hold down the Tylenol. His head hurt and his back and legs were starting to bitch and moan about how he'd curled up so tight while everyone else ate dinner. He rolled onto his side and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths and tried to put the pain out of his mind. He was exhausted. All he needed to do was get just a little more comfortable and he'd be able to fall asleep out of sheer necessity.

John sat quietly on the other side of the fire until he was sure Carson was asleep. Ford had apparently set up the tents during his and Carson's unexpected trip into the woods. He walked over to where the three of them were playing cards by camplight. "Where's my gear?"

"I put your stuff in with Dr. McKay's over there," Ford said tossing down a card and taking another one from Teyla. Sheppard glared at him, knowing full well that Aiden had set up the tents precisely to avoid being stuck with McKay as a roommate.

"Thanks," he muttered, shooting Ford a look that said he'd be getting his later.

John moved to the second tent and grabbed his sleeping bag out of it and headed back to the fire. As he passed his teammates, Ford jumped up and started walking with him. "You need something, Lieutenant?"

Ford leaned in close, as if he had a secret. "Just wanted to save you the time of plotting your revenge on me, sir. I knew that if Dr. Beckett was going to sleep by the fire, you would too. Which means we **all** get spared from having to bunk with McKay."

Sheppard grinned. "You know, for a Marine, you're pretty smart."

Ford smiled back, "Thank you, sir. Nice of you to notice."

"Go play cards, I'm going to crash."

Ford trotted back to the tents as Sheppard set up his sleeping bag near Beckett's, their heads not too far apart. As he got settled, John looked up to be sure that Carson was still asleep and not in any obvious distress. In the orange light, Carson actually looked healthier than John was sure he felt. John had gotten the flu early on in it's migration through the city and he'd spent the better part of a day in the infirmary while Carson's staff pumped him full of pain-killers, antiemitics and fluids to replace those he was losing every hour or so. Carson had stopped by to explain that none of it was absolutely necessary, he'd probably weather the bug well enough in his quarters with a bottle of Gatoraid and some aspirin, but that he'd be a lot comfortable if he let the nurses fuss over him for a few hours while the worst of it passed. A few hours had turned into a full day, but he'd slept most of it away anyway, so he really didn't care.

He wished he could have done the same for Carson. He shrugged, having already resolved to do what he could, he let himself fall asleep.

When John woke up he noticed that the card game had ended and the camplight had been put out. He couldn't see, but he assumed everyone had retired to their own tents for the night. He lay still wondering what had woken him. He knew he'd be up at dawn – he never could sleep when it was light out – but the fire had barely banked, which meant he hadn't been asleep for long.

A few seconds later he heard Carson roll over. A few seconds later, he heard it again. A few seconds after that, Carson was scrambling to get out of his sleeping bag and getting tangled.

"Doc?" he cried out.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Carson mumbled as he shoved his feet into his boots but didn't bother lacing them. "Sorry," he said again as he ran off in the general direction of the trees again.

He didn't even make it half way there before he dropped to the ground and began vomiting again. Sheppard had been sleeping in his boots and had been right behind him, so he caught him as he dropped and lowered him down. "Again?"

Carson nodded, his stomach continuing to spasm even though he'd already expelled the little that had been in there. When it finally paused he managed to whisper, "Still, I'm afraid. I've been nauseous all night."

John rubbed Carson's back as he waited for the other man to feel ready to head back to the camp. "You got anything for it in that handy little medical kit you shlep around everywhere?"

Carson shrugged, feeling a little stronger and sitting up. "Aye. I have some Compazine, but I don't think I can hold down the pills and it's right difficult to give yourself a shot in the arse."

John raised an eyebrow and thought about what he was about to say next. "Look, before I was sent to the Antarctic, I was in Afghanistan. I've had several field medicine courses and when you get into it and a medic says 'here do this' you do it and you don't bitch that you aren't trained for it, so you learn a lot on the fly."

Beckett looked up and considered what John was saying to him. "You know how to give inter-muscular injections?"

"I've done it a half-dozen or so times. No one's died on me yet. I'm not sure I'm terribly good at it… but if you can get your stomach to calm down, you might be able to get some sleep."

After a few seconds thought, Carson laughed. "Well, then, I'm game if you are."

The walk back to the fireside was longer than Carson remembered it being when going the other way. John kept his arm around his back and Carson kept finding his head listing off to rest on the other man's shoulder before he jerked it upright again.

He collapsed gratefully on his sleeping bag while John went back to find his field medicine kit.

"Here. You up to finding what you need and loading the dosage?" John set the whole pack in front of him.

"Aye," Carson said before shifting onto his side and rummaging through the kit. He found the vial and the proper syringe and, squinting into the firelight, drew the correct amount.

He handed the syringe and an alcohol wipe to the major and rolled onto his stomach.

There was a pause.

"Go on, then, get it over with."

John bit his lip trying to figure out the best way to say what he needed to say.

"Um Doc… I never figured I'd be the one saying this to you… but I need you to undo your pants."

Even in the dim firelight, John could see Carson blush. "Oh, of course."

John looked away as a completely inappropriate smile threatened to bloom. He wasn't at all aroused by the prospect of seeing Carson's butt under these circumstances – in fact, these were probably the least sexy circumstances he could think of – but there was some kind of cosmic justice in Dr. Beckett being embarrassed to show his ass to someone in the name of medicine.

When the rustling of cloth subsided, John turned back. He was able to pull the loosened pants, and the doctor's underwear out of the way far enough now. He put the needle on his lap and opened the alcohol wipe. He paused again. Despite it being his idea, this was still striking him as odd. He hesitantly touched the large muscle at the top of Carson's left buttock. "Here, right?"

Carson nodded into his sleeping bag. "Aye."

John scrubbed the skin and did what needed to be done.

Carson yelped as John stuck him. "A little warning would not go amiss here!" he complained.

John flinched, but carefully didn't jostle the needle. "Sorry. Did I mention that my previous experience with stuff like this was on guys who were unconscious?"

Carson wasn't sure if that was a joke or not; he was just relieved when it was over.

"Doing okay there?" John asked as he rifled through the first aid kit and came out with a small band-aid. He ripped open the package and covered the small puncture. "There you go. All done."

Carson shifted on to his side and fixed his clothes as John repacked the first aid kit. When it was closed and set aside, John regarded him solemnly. "So… how'd I do?"

"I'm not ready to make you one of my nurses, but in the field, I'll know who to count on when I need help. Medically or personally," Carson added as an after-thought.

John was sure he was blushing now. "Any time," he answered because he couldn't come up with anything better to say.

"Seriously," Carson said, studying John's face. "I appreciate the way you've looked out for me tonight. I know I get to be a bit of a pain in the arse when it comes to fieldwork. And I'm a textbook case of doctors making the worst patients."

"I go into the field on a regular basis with Rodney McKay," John said defiantly. "You're a picnic compared to him. I mean, all you've really wanted tonight is to sleep off this damn bug. Can you imagine if McKay came down with this while he was out here?"

"I don't have to imagine it. I lived it for three days in my infirmary," Carson commiserated.

"McKay may be good at what he does, and in general he's not a bad guy, but when he's feeling sick or gets a damn papercut, he's impossible," John added.

"Aye. I wonder sometimes if that was the only way he could get attention for anything other than his academic achievements when he was growing up." Carson's stomach was slowly unknotting and he knew the Compazine would have him knocked out soon, but he was enjoying the quiet of having a conversation with John Sheppard that had nothing to do with either of their professions per se, in a place where they weren't likely to be interrupted before he had to fall asleep. He wondered if he really wanted to spend this rare moment psycho-analyzing Rodney McKay, but as a topic of mutual interest it would suffice.

John stretched out on his stomach on his sleeping bag, propping his head on his hands, so he could see Carson. "Could be. I guess sometimes it's easy for us normal people to forget that being really, **really** bright – and having no social skills – can be a little isolating."

"Believe it or not, he's actually gotten a little better since the first time I met him. Not to say he doesn't still have his moments, but when we arrived at the SGC before shipping off for Antarctica I was seriously contemplating how much trouble I'd get in if I managed to slip him a good dose of diazepam when he wasn't looking."

John wrinkled his forehead. "Diazepam is…" He knew he should know that one, but it was late.

"Valium. Sedative. Only bloody way I could figure on shutting him up. If I had to hear one more time about how he'd been at the SGC already and how Dr. Samantha Carter couldn't get enough of him… It was going to get mighty ugly." Carson felt himself starting to flag and let his eyes drift close even as he fought to preserve the moment.

"When we were getting ready to ship out, General O'Neill took me out to dinner with his SG team. Dr. Samantha Carter didn't want anything to do with him," John shared.

"Well, like I said, he's no longer as bad as all that." Carson was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to force himself to stay awake another minute.

"Major?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for looking out for me tonight. I really do appreciate it."

"Not a problem. And you know, you can call me John. After all, I've given you a shot in the ass. If that doesn't entitle us to lose the formality, I'm not sure what does."

Carson smiled as he drifted off. "Well then, in that case, you could call me Carson."


	2. Put Your Head on My Shoulder

**Title: **The Human Body II: Put Your Head on My Shoulder  
**Author: **Waldo.  
**Rating **: PG-13  
**Words: **4323  
**Pairing **: pre-Sheppard/Beckett  
**Spoilers **: Takes place between "The Siege III" and "Intruder".  
**Summary **: After a crisis there are certain people everyone else leans on to help them get through. Who takes care of those people?  
**A/N **:**catherfina **cut her beta teeth on this one and did a fabulous job. If there are still things that aren't quite right, it's all my fault. Wrestling this story into shape was like taking on Wraith bare-handed. And I'm still not sure who won. This series starts with Part I, A Pain in the Ass .

**Put Your Head on My Shoulder  
by Waldo. **

Carson groaned inwardly. It wasn't that he especially disliked Rodney McKay, but he really wasn't up to dealing with the possibility of one of McKay's social faux pas. Not today. Not here and not now.

"Hey Carson."

Carson plastered on a smile that he definitely didn't feel, but given the occasion, he was sure Rodney wouldn't notice. "Hello, Rodney. How are you?" He was sick of asking people that. Sick of people asking him that.

Rodney shrugged, "You know, same as everyone. Not good, but getting better. On the other hand, he doesn't look so good."

Carson followed Rodney's finger across the wide balcony, currently serving as a make-shift reception area, to where John Sheppard was sitting on a bench near the wall, ramrod straight, his eyes closed against the setting sun. "Aye. Maybe you should go see if he's alright. He is your teammate after all."

Rodney rolled his eyes and shifted his weight in a way that Carson knew meant Rodney was going to point out something he felt was utterly obvious. "I think we both know that's not really my forte."

Carson had to admit that Rodney had a point. And he had to give Rodney credit for at least recognizing that he wasn't at his best in these situations. He nodded. "Fine."

Carson deliberately sat close enough to John that their legs brushed together. He didn't say anything, just waited silently until John opened one eye to see who was daring to disturb him.

"I didn't figure it was one of my guys over here," Sheppard finally muttered, shutting his eye again. "I overhear that I've been damn difficult to live with this past week."

Carson shrugged. "I don't know that any of us have been at our best lately."

Carson shifted back on the wide cement bench and leaned against the wall, pulling his knees up, determined to wait John out. He'd either talk or walk away. Carson was willing to let him choose.

After several long, silent minutes, John shifted to mirror Carson's pose, deliberately moving back in such a way that would put them shoulder-to-shoulder. "Elizabeth wanted to know if I wanted to include Ford."

Carson nodded. The mass funeral had been taxing on them all, but now he could see that what was eating John far more was the funeral they didn't have. He didn't know what to say. It ate at him too. He should have had Ford in hard restraints; he should have risked higher doses of sedative; he should have done something.

"I can't give up on him," John continued, saving Carson from having to find a way to choose between supporting Elizabeth or John. "He's twenty-five years old. This is a kid who had spent six months going through the Stargate before I'd even heard of the damn thing. He's been on more planets than anyone on this base. He was so blasé about it that when we left the SGC, he jumped through the gate backwards. I always figured he had to have landed on his ass when he got through the other side, but I'm sure he thought it was worth it - he was giving me shit at the time because I was a little nervous about going through the gate. Told it me hurt like hell before he jumped in like a ten year old jumping into a pool."

Carson smiled, for the first time remembering the young Marine the way he'd been before the Wraith attack a week ago instead of how he'd been after they'd found him in the ocean attached to his attacker. "Sounds like something the lad would do."

Both were silent again, just sharing the quiet and reflecting on a day where they had laid to rest nineteen of Altantis' own. Victims of the Wraith attack on the city. The three-day siege that had left nineteen dead and everyone else exhausted, sick and stunned.

After a few minutes John crossed his legs and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I gotta pull it together," he muttered. "My men are going to offer me as the first meal for the next Wraith we catch."

"This has been difficult on us all. There's not a one of us that hasn't been deeply affected by what we just survived. It's not surprising if we're all a little snappish, a little depressed. We just buried nineteen of our own and the infirmary's so full we're treating the walking wounded in their quarters. Right now we're all hurting in one way or another. It's no wonder we're all finding our fuses are a wee bit shorter than they usually are. We'll all find our balance soon enough," Carson consoled.

John turned his head to look Carson dead-on for the first time. "What about you?"

Carson smiled, finding it a little easier to smile at John than it had been at Rodney. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit," John muttered.

"I beg your pardon," Carson asked, affronted.

"You give me all this crap about how it's okay to be pissed and how we're all hurting, but when I ask about you, you give me this 'I'm fine,' bullshit." John clenched his hands. He hadn't meant to snap at Carson

Carson nodded, sadly. "Come on," he said sliding off the bench.

John looked up again from where he'd begun picking at the seam on his pants. He didn't move and he didn't say anything.

"Come on," Carson said again.

Not really wanting to, John finally stood up and followed the doctor back into the city.

Both were silent as John followed Carson through the halls. He really wasn't looking at where they were going and almost bumped into Carson when he stopped in front of a door, waving it open.

Carson stepped aside and let John enter. John stopped just far enough in that Carson could follow him in and the door could close behind them. He realized that in over a year on Atlantis, he'd never been in the other man's quarters.

"Have a seat," Carson said waving at the small sofa.

John moved further in but didn't sit.

Carson moved to the closet where he rummaged around in the back, finally pulling out a blanket and then unrolling it to reveal an amber bottle.

He poured John a healthy dose and handed him the glass. "Consider it a prescription if you like. Just don't tell anyone I have this."

John shrugged. "We're going home in a few days. I'll buy you a new bottle." He finally sat on the end of the sofa.

Carson nodded. He'd hoarded his one bottle of really good scotch for so long that he was finding breaking the habit hard. He poured himself a much smaller drink, just wanting to keep John company. He took the one chair in the room and moved it next to where John had sat, wanting to be near-by but not crowd the other man. He straddled the chair and wrapped his arms around the back.

They both drank in silence for a few minutes before Carson finally said, "You were right out there, and I'm sorry. That was pretty hypocritical. Honestly, I'm tired. I didn't catch myself from asking where Jenny was when I started my last medical staff meeting yesterday and everyone looked at me like I'd gone completely daft. When I realized what I'd said… I think that was the first time I really realized that she was gone. I had to dismiss everyone and reconvene when I'd calmed down. I have nightmares, but I'm sure we all do."

John nodded, remembering how tightly Carson had held himself when the Eulogy for Sergeant Jenny Richards had been read. Jenny was a Marine, but as a medic she had worked under Carson's supervision far more than his own. She'd been twenty-eight years old when she'd arrived on Atlantis. She looked to be a hundred and eight when they buried her today. Caught and fed on by the Wraith while she was out bringing the injured to the infirmary during the siege.

John hung his head, staring into his drink as if he could divine some meaning of it all in the ripples. Ripples. Damn he was shaking again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Either from exhaustion or lack of food or emotion. He suspected that it was quite possibly all three by now. He felt a little guilty for forcing Carson to confide in him, but he had to admit that he was finding the idea of presenting a less than stoic facade to someone a little less daunting knowing that Carson wouldn't judge. He sighed. Who was he fooling? Carson never judged anyone. It was one of the things that drew John to him. He didn't have the automatic deference the airmen and marines who served under him had and he didn't have that innate disdain for the military most of the scientists had. With Carson, John was just John and being a soldier was just his day job.

John shifted back into the cushions as he realized that he hadn't really been waiting for an opportunity to talk as much as he'd been dreading running out of excuses not to. With Carson being dead honest with him, he had no choice but to respond in kind. He took a healthy swallow of the scotch, letting it warm him on it's way down.

"When we go home next week, we'll be bringing back eleven bodies. The other eight... we could never explain how healthy men and women who were in the prime of their lives were turned into old corpses without the families having security clearance. And that doesn't even take into account Markham and Gaul and all the others we'd already lost. So some military chaplin is going to be stuck going to knock on the door of some poor, unsuspecting family to lie to them - only he won't _know _he's lying because _he _doesn't have security clearance - and tell them that we either couldn't recover the body or that it was destroyed." John took another drink.

"And I don't know what the hell I'm going to say to Ford's family." He finished his glass. Carson reached over and poured him another drink. John held up a hand, "If that's all you've got -"

"We're going home soon. I can get more, remember?" Carson continued to pour.

"Right. Thanks."

There was another long silence before John finally started speaking again, finding himself more grateful to have someone to pour his soul out to than he ever thought he would be. He'd been trying to stay strong for his men and going to Elizabeth was out because she was already carrying so much weight, so much responsibility. He realized that he could have gone to Heightmeyer, but the idea of actually going to a shrink made him nervous. What if she actually found that something _was _wrong with him? He wondered why he hadn't thought to talk to Carson sooner. And to see if he had someone to talk to.

"I don't want to die," John said quietly when he realized Carson was waiting for him to say something. "I took an oath to lay down my life for my men and for the mission, and if it came down to it, I would. But I don't _want _to die. And yet, sometimes it seems like survivor guilt can get so overwhelming. And knowing what it is doesn't make it go away."

Carson finished his own drink on that remark. "No, no it doesn't." He poured himself another few ounces. "We were sure _you _were dead," Carson managed to get out before his throat closed up. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced another swallow of scotch down.

John reached out and grabbed Carson's wrist. "Hey. I'm right here."

Carson nodded. "I know. I know; it was just..." he didn't have any idea how he planned to finish that sentence without losing it. "I know," he said again instead.

John tugged on the arm he was holding, "Come here."

Carson squinted at him in confusion, but got out of the chair and let John pull him around to the sofa and sat next to him. John slung his arm over Carson's shoulders. "I think maybe we've all been through hell and we've all been trying to deal with it on our own."

Carson nodded, "Aye. Perhaps we have." He tried not to think about much better a little human contact made him feel. He resisted the urge to lean his head on John's shoulder to remind himself of John's reality.

"I may not have the whole doctor/patient confidentiality thing going for me, but if there's anything you want to talk about..." John was genuinely concerned, but he was also ready for the conversation to be about someone else for a while.

Carson shrugged, "The hell of it is that everyone knows. It seems somewhat pointless to explain to someone how shaken up things are around here due to a Wraith attack we spent two weeks waiting for and three days enduring and the past week recovering from. Everyone knows that; what's to be said?"

John nodded knowing the feeling exactly. "Yeah."

John felt the beginnings of an unpleasant idea forming. He set his glass on the table and leaned forward, his hands over his face as the idea coalesced. He groaned.

"For everyone else it was over when McKay cloaked the city. For you, it just started then, didn't it?" He peered out through his fingers at the doctor who simply sat there, studying him. "McKay and Zelenka passed out less than half an hour after we dropped the cloak. Me and my guys did a check of critical areas; but mostly we relied on the sensors to tell us the city was clear. Caldwell sent down enough fresh troops that I could put anyone who'd been on Atlantis during the siege on standdown about three hours after the shield went down. How many hours was it before you got any sleep? By the time you rounded up all the dead and injured, treated everyone, managed to get McKay to quit puking and shaking from all the speed you gave him... how long was it before you and your staff got to rest? And who came to make sure you were okay?"

Carson turned to face his agitated friend. "John, it's alright."

Feeling himself get far more worked up than he should have been, John dropped his hands and glared at Carson. "You know what? It's not all right. It's not okay that it never occurred to anyone to check in with you guys. You either had me come to the infirmary or you came and found me every day to be sure I wasn't suffering any kind of radiation sickness from sharing close quarters with a tactical nuke. How long was it before someone thought to check on you? Before you got to sleep? How long after they dropped the cloak?"

Carson wanted to be touched that John was that concerned for him, but he knew that it was just a question of being a convenient target for John's generalized concern. He was fairly certain that if Elizabeth or Teyla had been the first to give him a quiet place to vent that he'd have been finding reasons to get suddenly protective of them. Still, it was a nice passing thought that John might be worried for him.

Carson reached out and rested a hand on John's forearm. "It _is _okay. Everyone has their assigned duties. Those are ours." He knew John wouldn't let go of the question of how long it had been before he'd gotten his first rest after the three-day siege, so he simply told him the truth. "I honestly don't know how long it was before we were able to slow down in the infirmary. I know that once we got through the initial deluge we went to four-hours-on, four hours-off-rotations. It was probably a day and a half, two days before we went back onto a normal schedule. There were a fair number of injured to be tended to. And with having to move people onto and off of the _Daedalus _we lost track of time."

John scrubbed his fingers through his hair. "I'm not saying you're lying, or anything, but it seems to me you docs are always looking at the time. How can you not know how long you were working?"

"Sure, we check the time if someone's heart stops or to find out if someone's due for their next round of meds, but it's all just for reference. If their heart stops at nine-thirty you have until nine-thirty-five to get it going again before there's certain to be some brain damage. So you're only marking the time as a point of reference for a given event. Not counting the hours you've been on duty. I suppose if I went back and checked the charts I could figure it out, but honestly, I don't think I want to know."

John squeezed his eyes shut, wondering why the hell this was bothering him so much. He'd been in the military his entire adult life, he'd seen the aftermath of battles - the medics working long after the battles had been fought. There had been times that he'd fought in those battles and then flown med-evac right after and he'd never thought twice about it. He couldn't understand why it was so important, so damn infuriating, that the medical staff in Atlantis had been the last ones to get any sleep.

"John," Carson said slowly, "I'm okay. My staff is okay." He paused before asking, "When was the last time you got any real sleep?" He held up a hand when John was quick to answer, "Not 'when was the last time you lay in bed and stared at the ceiling for a few hours before getting up to wander the halls?' When did you _sleep _?"

"A while," he admitted quietly. John sighed but didn't answer for a long time. When he did, it was to tell Carson something that no one else knew for fear that it could screw up his military career even more than he'd already done. "I can't take sleeping pills." He let out a self-depreciating snort. "I'm scared to death of the things, and no matter how tired I feel during the day I can't get to sleep at night," he confided quietly.

Carson leaned forward, matching Sheppard's pose. "There's a note in your medical file to avoid giving you sedatives when at all possible, but there's no explanation for why." He deliberately didn't ask, just carefully left an opening if John wanted to tell him.

"When I got re-assed to Germany to do some advanced training on Blackhawks - helicopters, big ones," he explained at Carson's puzzled look, "I was having some trouble with my ears ringing a lot. We wear noise-reducers when we're flying, but you spend a lot of time just out around the things and they're loud. Anyway, I mentioned to the doc there that it was bothering me, keeping me up at night, so he gave me some pills. I should have known something wasn't right when he said that they wouldn't make the ringing stop, but I wouldn't care anymore." John shrugged, knowing with perfect twenty-twenty hindsight how stupid it was not to follow his gut reaction which was to ask the doc if he was nuts and then tell him where to shove his pills.

Carson pursed his lips, wondering what kind of lunatic would do something like that. "What did he have you on?"

"Xanex," John said. "It worked for a while. He was right; the ringing didn't bother me. In fact almost nothing bothered me. But then I got stupid if I thought I'd end up spending the night somewhere and I didn't have them with me. After ... after a particularly stupid stunt, I threw 'em out and didn't look back. After being so mellow for three months, I was an absolute asshole for the two weeks it took me to get them out of my system and learn to sleep without them again. I eventually just learned to live with the ringing. But no more tranquilizers... Just... just a bad idea."

Carson nodded. "Fair enough. But I don't think it's a bit of tinnitus that's keeping you awake lately."

Seemingly out of nowhere, John asked, "Will Ford ever see out of that eye again?"

Carson shifted and laid his hand in the middle of John's back, starting to understand the depth of emotion that that John had been suppressing about all of this. The loss of his men, and the others, not knowing what had happened to Ford, almost dying several times and, he realized, an overwhelming fear that his best efforts, even his death, wouldn't be enough to keep Atlantis safe.

"I doubt it," Carson finally answered. "The pupil is blown. The Wraith enzyme seems to be healing most of his injuries, so I can't be sure that it won't eventually heal if he remains on the enzyme long enough, but I think the collateral damage of staying on the enzyme for any more time than necessary will far outweigh the chances of it repairing that eye." He knew it was nothing but bad news, but he also knew that the only thing that would let John rest would be honesty and as much information as he could get.

"I keep thinking of the last time I saw someone the Wraith hadn't quite finished with. I tell myself that the situations aren't the same, but I can't tell if that's just to make myself feel better. I'm not sure I'll be able to pull the trigger on Ford." John said quietly.

"I'm praying you don't have to."

"Colonel Everett's going to die."

"Not immediately. I'd say he could still have a couple of years left." Carson knew it wasn't enough, but it was all he could offer.

There was a long pause before Carson said, quietly, "Look, John, I'll not deny that things have been bad. We've lost people. Lost friends. But we're still here. Atlantis is whole and the Wraith are gone. None of which would be true if you hadn't saved us -"

"McKay was the one-" John cut him off.

Carson cut him off in return, "Yes, yes, the shield, as he loves to remind us. But we couldn't have taken that bombardment for long. You getting that bomb out there was what kept the Wraith away. And despite all your training and your brave face, you were probably scared to death. You said it yourself; you don't want to die. And you were sure that you were going to. And then you had to go through all that again when the second batch came. It all takes a toll."

John's brain kept replaying the last conversation he'd had with Everett. When Everett had all but asked John to put him out of his misery. Where he had been absolved, in the other man's eyes, for the shooting of Sumner. He just wished he knew whom he had failed. Sumner for shooting him or Everett for not. Which left him with no idea what to do when he encountered Ford next. He clenched his hands around his glass, silently cursing the Wraith for forcing him to decide time and again which good men, from his own side should live and which should die. It was one thing to kill the enemy, but John found that he was being confronted with having to shoot his own time and again and that wasn't something he felt equipped to handle. John looked over at Carson. "Have you ever had to perform a mercy killing, Doc?"

Caraon shook his head. "If you mean technical euthanasia, administering medication to cause death, no. But before I was asked to join the group in Antarctica, I was working in a genetics clinic. Most of my patients were children with rare, and usually lethal genetic abnormalities. In some of the cases, the patient could be kept alive through procedure after procedure - most often painful and usually only a temporary gap-filler until something else went wrong. In most of those cases the parents would eventually decide that a peaceful passing was more merciful than a continued life of pain and illness and they'd discontinue treatment."

John tried to imagine Carson spending all day treating kids he knew were going to die anyway. He supposed Antarctica would be, at the least, a nice reprieve from that.

"Ever have one you couldn't let go of?"

"Aye. A few. But in the end it wasn't up to me."

John wondered if that made Carson the only person in Atlantis who might have an inkling of what he was feeling. He was surprised how much just knowing that there was someone who could empathize with him in even the slightest way made him feel better about the predicament.

John nodded, and then squeezed his eyes closed as everything that had happened in the past month caught up to him all at once. He leaned forward, one elbow on his knee, his face in his hand. He bit his lip, but it wasn't enough to keep the first tear from hitting his knees.

John didn't pretend he was okay or protest when the hand on his back wrapped around his shoulders and Carson tipped his head onto his shoulder and held him as he cried silently. Finally.

And Carson knew that John would finally sleep that night.


	3. A Slip of the Tongue

Carson was late, but not quite late enough to make John worry that he'd been stood up, so John figured that he'd been hung up in the infirmary with Lorne's team.

He was studiously not thinking of this as a date. They were going to watch one of the movies that had been sent with the re-supply from the _Daedalus_. Just two guys who didn't get to see a lot of each other outside of work, watching a movie. He studiously ignored that they'd all seen quite a bit of each other on the eighteen-day trip back on the _Daedalus_. He tried very hard not to think of why he and Carson had seen so much of one another other on the last part of the trip back, in fact. They were back on Atlantis now and their separate jobs had seen fit to keep them from even running into each other for three days straight. Hence, the email asking Carson if he wanted to come over to watch a movie they'd both mentioned wanting to see, but neither had time to actually rent while on Earth.

Even before they'd worked out a way to 'Gate home, and get back, and not knowing who would make the trip if anyone did, Colonel O'Neill had had care packages put together for each member of the team and those had been unloaded as soon as the _Daedalus_ had re-docked after they'd uncloaked following the last Wraith attack. There had been all kinds of things in their crates. Things from their apartments, letters from family and friends, movies, books, civilian clothes, music files, and all sorts of foodstuffs. John had been overjoyed at the three cases of beer that had been at the bottom of his crate. Not that that stopped him from bringing back three more when he'd gone home.

When the doorbell finally chimed, John jumped up to answer it instead of just hollering 'it's open' the way he usually did.

"Hey, come on in."

Carson smiled weakly, but didn't move. "Actually, I was wondering if we might not postpone. I've had quite the long day and I'm afraid I'd end up being horribly rude and passing out on your couch."

John studied him for a second before ushering him in anyway. "Tell you what, if you do, I'll toss a blanket over you and let you crash." He gave him a little grin, and hoped he'd be taken up on the offer. "Come on, we've wanted to see this movie for a few weeks now. I finally wrangled it out of Zelenka's hands. But I have to give it back tomorrow."

Carson shrugged. "Only if you're sure you won't mind if I don't make it through."

"Hey, how many times have I fallen asleep on your furniture?" John joked.

"Passing out in the infirmary hardly counts," Carson responded lightly.

John just waved him at the couch, where he'd already set his laptop up on the coffee table with the DVD player pulled up and paused. "Want a beer? It's American, but it's a decent American beer."

"Because I'm not going to have enough problems staying awake, you want to add alcohol to a sixteen hour day?" Carson remarked, but took the bottle he was handed anyway.

John sat down on the couch next to him. "Take your shoes off, get comfortable", he said as he did the same. "Why such a long day?" he asked casually.

Carson sighed theatrically. "Do you know Rodney's new assistant? Thomas?"

John nodded while he took another sip of his beer.

"Well, at about four o'clock this morning he fell off a ladder and broke his leg. They called down to the infirmary and had him transferred down there, and he was fine with all that, but then he refused to take off his pants in front of Dr. Chen. Apparently he has developed quite the crush on her during their trip out here on the _Daedalus_. Anyway, they called me to set his leg, because he was threatening to leave A.M.A. By the time I was done and we'd gotten the second set of pictures to be sure it was set properly, it was about half an hour before my shift started anyway, so I just stayed on. Then just as I was getting ready to leave, Major Farrell's team came in."

"Oh, I heard about that," John said, setting his bottle on the table. "They going to be okay?"

"Aye," Carson said, taking another sip of his own beer. "The burns aren't so bad. They'll start peeling in a day or so, which will itch like hell, but we've got creams and sprays for that sort of thing. They should just be glad the villagers weren't exactly track stars or it could have been much worse. And it's a good thing the _Daedalus_ dropped off more uniforms. Theirs were burnt to a crisp. But they'll all be okay."

"Good. Ready?" John asked indicating the computer.

Carson nodded and John hit 'play'.

They weren't even a third of the way into the movie before John realized that no matter how funny the lines were, he was the only one laughing. True to his word, Carson had sacked out. They'd been back from Earth for a little less than a week. And while eighteen days cooped up on the _Daedalus_ should have given anyone enough time for rest, they found that all it did was make them restless. Which, of course was only made worse by discovering, eleven days into the trip, that an alien computer virus that was attacking them and trying to hand them over to the Wraith. John sighed. He owed Carson a few sleepless nights anyway. The radiation from the star he and Rodney had almost been sucked into had made them both fairly ill for the last leg of their journey home.

He'd tried to tell Carson that he was okay with Dr. Madison from the _Daedalus_ looking after him, but Carson had insisted that he didn't mind. Then he'd pretended to be futzing with a monitor at the head of John's bed and whispered, "Rodney's insisting on having _his_ doctor. But it's alright, nobody else should have to be subjected to Rodney McKay when he's not well. I've had enough exposure to become immune over the past year. Poor Dr. Madison wouldn't stand a chance."

John had laughed at the idea that a rather large, burly, Air Force doctor being intimidated by McKay and a bedpan before the medicines he was on kicked in and he'd fallen asleep. His last thought before surrendering was that maybe Rodney had a point. Maybe it was nice to be fussed over by someone who knew him.

Rodney's kvetching had started as soon as they landed. He insisted that he couldn't get out of the fighter on his own, so Carson sent a couple of medics to help him while he steered John over to an emergency scrub down station set up in the hangar. He was able to hand John the soap and point him to the cubical, knowing that Sheppard would know the correct procedures for removing any kind of radioactive material from his body.

Rodney, of course, had thrown a fit about being stripped on the hangar bay and manhandled through a shower by two medics in biohazard gear. For thirty minutes he ranted and raved about how much more he knew about radiation than anyone else in the bay, and then proceeded to start telling them everything he knew. John finally decided that everyone had had enough and turned to him and said, "Rodney. Shut the hell up. Now." Carson had been supremely grateful for John's skill at handling the other man when he was panicking.

There were scrubs and gurneys waiting when they were done. Without a single protest, John pulled on the white scrubs and hopped up to sit on a gurney and looked at Carson, "How long 'til the puking starts and the hair goes?"

Carson had already stripped off his hazmat suit as soon as the Asgard sensors had given the general environment the all clear. "According to the readouts we got from the fighter, it may not get as bad as all that. You'll be sick for a few days," he reached up and ruffled John's unruly hair, "But the hair has a chance. Especially hair as strong-willed as your own."

John smiled and decided Carson had the best bedside manner in the universe.

Two hours later he was not smiling. Carson had given them the run-down of what to expect: nausea, vomiting, bruising and bleeding, skin rashes or burns. He didn't tell them about the less likely symptoms because he just knew that if he did that McKay would develop them by sheer force of hypochondria. John had lain in the _Daedalus_' infirmary for the first hour and a half daring to hope that his symptoms would be extremely mild. He'd even pestered one of the nurses into going down to his quarters and getting his new John Grisham novel for him when he started getting bored. So far he felt okay. Most of what he did feel could be blamed on the let down from one hell of an adrenaline rush.

Adrenaline had never made him puke, though, so he knew he was about to start Carson's promised three days of hell. He had both arms wrapped around a stainless steel emesis basin and he was pretty sure that the only thing left for him to bring up would be his left kidney, but that didn't seem to stop his stomach from convulsing and sending a jolt of pure agony through his head as his gag reflex kicked in again and again. He was panting, trying to keep from inhaling the smell of the basin and setting off his system again when he felt a cool, wet cloth against his forehead. Then the basin was gone and he was being leaned back against the pillow through no effort of his own.

"Ready for that Compazine now?" Carson was asking as he finished washing John's face.

"My turn, huh?" John whispered, making a face as his throat burned.

Carson glanced over to McKay, "Aye, your turn. Rodney let me give him some when he first started feeling queasy. You done arguing with me?"

John let his head fall to the side to look over at McKay. He'd been really hoping to get through this relatively unscathed. He'd felt just fine for the first three hours after exposure, so much so that he was really starting to think he'd get by without any serious symptoms. McKay of course was dying the minute he heard the word 'radiation' and Carson had taken pity on everyone else and sedated the physicist as soon as he started complaining of symptoms. John had waved off any kind of preventative medicine as long as he didn't feel the need for it.

He actually hadn't been thinking of Rodney, though. "Actually I was thinking that it was your turn to give me a shot in the ass for puking."

Carson smiled, remembering how John had put his field medicine to the test when Carson had gotten the flu while out in the field with the now-Colonel's team. "Ah. Actually, you get off easy. I'm just going to put it in your I.V. port."

"Well, if you insist," John acquiesced and watched as Carson put the prepared hypodermic into the plastic port in his arm.

If ever asked, John would never have admitted how nice it was to have Carson sit on the edge of his bed, wiping his face and neck with the cool cloth again until he fell asleep.

He woke up to find Carson sitting on a chair between his bed and Rodney's. He had his elbow on John's mattress and his head rested on his hand. John's book was in his other hand.

"Hey Doc," he whispered and then winced as pain sliced through his head.

"Major – Colonel," Carson corrected himself and was glad he did when he saw John smile dopily at him. "What do you need?"

John thought about it for a minute. He was fairly sure he was getting everything he _needed_ – meds, fluids, rest. He realized it was about what he _wanted_. He wanted Carson's attention. He couldn't say that though.

He had to think for a minute before coming up with something. "Any chance I can get something to rinse my mouth out with? Tastes like I've been puking."

Carson passed a hand over the top of John's head as he stood. "Well, there hasn't been any more of that lately, thank goodness. But I'll see if I can't get you something.

John closed his eyes and waited while Carson went to find him something that would get the foul taste out of his mouth. It had been a long time since he'd been a kid, stuck home sick from school, but now that he thought about it, being home sick had very little with the medicine his mother gave him and everything to do with her sitting by his bedside or on the floor when he lay on the couch to watch t.v., fussing with his blankets and stroking his hair. He wondered if there was some way of getting Carson to do that thing with his hair again. It felt better than it should have, mostly because it was Carson, but it also reminded him how long it had been since he'd been touched by anyone for simple comfort and friendship. He missed it. He liked being the military commander of Atlantis, but his status seemed to separate him from most other people, despite his efforts not to take himself too seriously.

Carson came back and handed him a small paper cup of something that smelled like mint and put a basin in front of him. "Rinse," he said quietly, one hand helping him sit up, the other holding the basin.

John did as he was told, finding that no longer tasting his own vomit did help cut down on the current nausea. It occurred to John to wonder why Carson wasn't passing some of the more minor tasks like that to the nurses on shift. He wasn't complaining, but he wondered what was in it for Carson.

When Carson had gotten rid of the basin and the little cup, he came back and checked on Rodney's monitors first, and then his. McKay was still asleep and John wondered if Rodney hadn't been anesthetized or something. He'd been mentally bracing himself for three days of hearing every symptom that passed through either McKay's body or his mind.

As Carson adjusted his I.V., John asked, "Is Rodney okay?"

Carson sat back down in his chair and folded his arms on the edge of John's bed, bringing their faces very close. "Aye. He's fine. I gave him some pretty strong anti-nausea meds because I knew that they'd help him get through the night."

John nodded. He hadn't wanted meds until they were absolutely necessary. Rodney would take anything that offered relief.

Carson shifted a little to lean on one hand, the other going up to card gently through John's hair. "What about you? How are you feeling?"

John shrugged, not sure what kind of answer would keep Carson by his side running his fingers through his hair and speaking quietly to him like that.

"Still nauseous?" Carson asked.

"A little. Better now that my mouth isn't so gross."

"Headache?"

John had to stop and think. "Not at the moment." He remembered his head hurting when he'd been puking. "Actually, my hands hurt. That's weird, right?"

Carson sat up and took John's hand in his. John hid the pout that tried to surface when Carson moved his hand away from his head. "Not so weird," Carson told him. "You have some slight burns on your exposed skin. Rodney's face is starting to resemble a well-done lobster. He'll be peeling in a few days. You don't look quite so bad. Do you feel it on your face?"

John nodded as he realized Carson was right. "Now that you mention it, I do, a little."

Carson squeezed his shoulder, "I'll get you some cream."

John fell asleep, despite his best efforts not to, to the incredibly soothing feeling of Carson gently massaging the lotion into his burned hands. With the moisture and the slight analgesic in it, the burn was relieved immediately and John was able to just appreciate being touched.

The next time John woke up, he was sure he was dying. Every muscle hurt. His stomach was threatening to rebel again even though he was fairly sure that it had been over twenty-four hours since he'd put anything in it. His head pounded and when he opened his eyes, the light sliced through him like a dull machete.

He gave up after a few futile attempts to roll over and sit up. He didn't even try to open his eyes again. He just lay on his side and listened to the sounds around him. His heart monitor seemed steady enough. On his left a nurse was berating someone for not taking his or her asthma medicine and then there was the whir of some sort of machine that John presumed was for said asthma condition. On his right he could hear McKay complaining. He wondered if a trip to Kate Heightmeyer's office was in order when he discovered that he found the sound of Rodney's pissing and moaning comforting. He hadn't seen McKay seriously hurt yet, but if he was like any of the other hypochondriacs John knew, once they were really and truly sick or hurt they didn't complain nearly as much. That was when you started to worry. So as long as Rodney was whining, he couldn't be as bad off as John was at the moment. And he was glad for that. No one should feel as bad as John did at the moment. Not even Rodney McKay who got on his nerves every chance he got.

"Look, I was already cursed with a receding hairline. I can't afford for it to recede any more. There has to be something you can do."

"Well, I think I have a bottle of crazy-glue I can get for you if you like," Carson answered brightly.

"Very funny. It's not your hair decorating the linens around here." Rodney's pout was audible.

"No, but I was thinking of collecting all of yours and weaving a tapestry from it. Something to brighten up my office in Atlantis." Carson was clearly having a good time with Rodney. John sighed and got a little more comfortable to enjoy the show they didn't know they were giving him. The distraction from his own aches and pains was nice. But it made him wonder if Rodney's hair really was going and Carson was just trying to make it less of an issue. He couldn't raise his arm up far enough to check to see if his own hair was still there. He also found that for the moment he didn't really care. It would grow back in all it's unruly glory once he got better, he knew. And for a few days he wouldn't have to hear the comments everyone made when they decided that he let it stick up like that; like he had any choice in the matter.

Finally Carson sighed, John knew he'd reached the end of his rope with Rodney. "Now, other than the fact that you think your forehead is a few millimeters larger than it was yesterday, is anything else wrong?"

There was a long pause before Rodney finally muttered, "My head hurts. And I know you've given me like a gallon of that stuff for my stomach, but it's still…you know. And I'm cold. Why is it that people always feel cold when they have a fever? That doesn't make sense, does it?"

"Do really want the medical lecture, or do you just want me to do something about it?" Carson asked, sincerely wondering if McKay needed the information before he'd be able to stop running it around his brain.

"Just do something about it," Rodney finally conceded.

John smiled a little. He'd have asked for both. But then again he was acknowledging that he was developing an acute fondness for Carson's accent. He would have listened to the man read the phone book. He wondered if it was healthy to have a crush on his doctor. He knew that his interest in Carson went back quite a bit further than this recent illness, but the man was definitely seeing him at his worst. That probably wouldn't bode well, would it?

John wasn't sure if he was thinking straight given how lousy he felt, so he tabled the issue for a time when thinking about it wouldn't hurt so much.

"Let me know if you need anything else," Carson was saying when John tuned in again. He could hear him patting Rodney on the leg or shoulder. Carson was like that. He touched people all the time. John reminded himself of that and told himself that when Carson had sat with him the night before that it probably hadn't meant anything special to anyone but him.

His eyes had opened just a bit as he heard footsteps approaching his bed. Carson took John's hand in his and for a fleeting second John had thought that maybe he wasn't wishing on a hopeless cause, but he got a quick does of reality as Carson turned his hand over and took his pulse. He hoped the flash of disappointment didn't register on his face. He cursed himself for acting like thirteen-year-old.

"And what about you?" Carson asked quietly, setting John's hand back on the sheet.

"Cold," John mumbled the first thing that came to mind.

"I'll get you another blanket."

John tried to nod, but found it too hard.

When Carson came back he stripped off the blanket and sheet John had been using, and covered him with a heavy cotton blanket that had apparently been in some kind of warmer, before replacing the other blankets. John sighed, feeling the chill lift and his muscles soak up the warmth. "Thanks," he whispered. He wanted to ask about the hot blanket and how to get another one when this one cooled off, but he didn't have the strength.

John snuggled into the blankets, more relieved by the warmth than he had anticipated. He still felt like crap. But at least now he wasn't freezing cold, shivering crap. And then Carson was brushing his hair back off his forehead again and John decided that for feeling like crap, life didn't get much better.

"This is the worst of it," Carson was saying quietly. "In a few hours the fever should break and you'll be on the mend."

"'kay," John muttered hoping like hell it was true. He was quickly deciding that having Carson's attention – even split between him and Rodney as it was – was a good thing, but he'd much rather have it when he felt up to actually appreciating it. Maybe they could watch a movie together when they got back to Atlantis. Or get dinner in the mess or something that wouldn't involve them interacting in any kind of professional way. That would be nice, he thought as the gentle petting of his hair lulled him back to sleep no matter how hard he fought.

He leaned over and stopped the DVD. Zelenka wouldn't mind him holding on to it for another day or two and it would be a good excuse to invite Carson back.

He stood up and went to the closet where he found the one spare blanket he knew he had, but no extra pillow.

One thing the military life had taught him was how to sleep under adverse conditions. And not having your pillow while inside, in a controlled climate while you still had covers certainly did _not_ qualify as 'adverse conditions'.

He set the pillow at the end of the couch. "Carson," he whispered. Nothing. He shook his shoulder a little, "Carson?"

"eh…?"

"Come on," he carefully maneuvered his guest until he was lying on the pillow. He couldn't help but smile at the look of extreme relief that passed over Carson's face as he snuggled into the pillowcase, clearly relieved to not be forcing himself to remain upright anymore. "Swing your feet up," he told him before Carson could fall completely asleep again.

Carson did as he was told and then frowned, "Oh… oh no, I fell asleep during the movie," he muttered without opening his eyes.

"You warned me. It's not a problem. We can try the movie again tomorrow." John shook out the blanket and draped it over him. As Carson pulled it up to his chin, John noticed that he still had his earpiece in. John leaned over and gently removed it. "I'm putting your radio on the table," he said as Carson reached up for it.

"Alright," he murmured before wrapping one fist around the edge of the blanket, pulling it against his chest and rolling over a little to get comfortable.

John's hand came to rest on top of Carson's head. "You need anything else?" He remembered how much he had appreciated Carson's simple touches when he'd been in the _Daedalus_' infirmary, and wondered if Carson would feel the same way. He knew he was rationalizing; he liked touching people. Probably even more than he liked being touched. He just wanted an excuse to touch Carson. He ran his fingers through what was probably the thickest hair he'd ever felt a few times as Carson settled into the pillow a little more.

After a moment Carson managed to drag up enough energy to reply. "No. Thank you. I'm sorry to put you out like this."

"What 'put me out'? You told me you were tired, I insisted we watch the movie anyway. Now you're crashed on the couch. I'm so not 'put out.' John let his hand drop to Carson's shoulder and squeezed before standing up.

"Alright then," Carson agreed, mostly just so he could go back to sleep.

"All right, then." John agreed before grabbing his book and flopping down on the bed to read while Carson slept.

Carson had gotten some coffee and was trying to decide which of the breakfast offerings seemed the least unappealing. Deciding that an apple and some banana bread probably wouldn't prove too lethal, even from a military-style galley, he headed into the mess-proper to find a table.

It was when he saw Teyla sitting alone that he remembered that they were supposed to have breakfast that morning. Waking up in strange surroundings had caused it to completely slip his mind.

Feeling chagrinned he set his tray across from her. "Teyla, I'm so sorry. I know we were supposed to meet," he checked his watch – it could have been worse – "fifteen minutes ago. My apologies."

She smiled at him over her cereal and tea. "It is alright. I went to your quarters, thinking perhaps you had over-slept, but you were not there, so I assumed you had been called to the infirmary."

Carson put sugar in his coffee and stirred it. "Actually no, I went over to Colonel Sheppard's to watch a movie last night and ended up falling asleep on his couch, so he just threw a blanket over me and left me there." Something in Carson's mind refused to categorize it as simply John not wanting to be bothered with getting him up and out. He was pretty sure it had something to do with the vague sense memory of John stroking his hair as he fell asleep. But that wasn't something he wanted to move to the front of his mind, let alone explain to Teyla.

Teyla nodded in that sage way of hers. "You have been working very hard since your return from Earth. No doubt you needed the sleep."

Carson apologized once again for being late before they turned to other topics of conversation.

Carson was glad that it was impossible to slam the doors in Atlantis. No doubt the one to his lab would have been knocked off its hinges. He watched silently as Rodney slammed the crystal that shut the door for those not born with the ancient gene. Or in Rodney's case, clearly so pissed that he'd forgotten that he'd been given it.

"So!" Rodney huffed as if that explained his sudden appearance and impossible mood.

Carson spared a worried glance for all the glass on the shelves. "Something I can do for you, Rodney?" he asked quietly, hoping his friend would calm down before something was broken.

Rodney grabbed the only other stool in the lab and put it down right in front of Carson. "So," he said again.

Carson raised his eyebrows, but waited patiently. Rodney would explain himself soon enough.

"So, when were you going to tell me?"

Carson was starting to wonder if he needed to run a CT on the other man. "Tell you what?"

"'Tell me _what_?' Come on, Carson! I told you about Katie. You could have told me. I thought we were friends." Rodney was staring at Carson, daring him to deny that he knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Told you what, Rodney? I haven't a bloody clue what you're on about!" Carson yelled, his patience with McKay's nonsense reaching a quick end.

Rodney looked back and forth as if expecting the mice in the corner to over-hear and pass gossip. "You're screwing around with John Sheppard!" he hissed.

Carson felt distinctly lightheaded and somewhat sick. "Excuse me?"

"Teyla told me. She said –"

Carson held up a hand, "Wait, wait… Teyla told you I was… What did she say exactly?" He started to see exactly how their breakfast conversation could have morphed into… into Rodney standing around ranting because Carson hadn't mentioned that he was sleeping with John Sheppard. When he was doing no such thing. Except literally. Carson's head started to throb.

"I saw her come in at breakfast, she asked if I'd seen you. I said I didn't. When I saw her again this afternoon I asked her if she'd found you and she said that she had and that you were late because you'd been sleeping with Major Sheppard."

"Colonel," Carson corrected instinctively.

"_Whatever_!" Rodney screamed.

Carson sighed wondering how many people had heard this rumor and how much damage control he needed to do. He sighed again. This was going to get messy. "Rodney, calm down before you give yourself some kind of aneurysm," he said. Trying to wrangle his thoughts under control with Rodney flapping around like a teenager with bathroom-wall gossip was turning his headache into a full-blown migraine.

"Aneurysm? Seriously? I could do that?" Rodney's hands flew to his chest then to his head.

Carson just rolled his eyes. "I am not," he said slowly, only planning to explain this Rodney once, "_not_ having sex with John Sheppard. I slept over there last night. I fell asleep. On the sofa. He left me to get some rest. That's why I was late to meet up with Teyla – he doesn't use an alarm clock and he got up and left without waking me, so I overslept. I _slept_ with… no, I'm not even saying it that way. I _fell asleep_ over there. That was all."

Rodney looked completely deflated. "Oh. You know that's not nearly as interesting as the way Teyla made it sound."

Still feeling somewhat mortified, Carson muttered, "Yes, well, no one ever said my life was interesting."

Rodney actually looked like he felt bad and Carson wanted to say something to get that look off his face. It wasn't Rodney's fault that Teyla misspoke or he misinterpreted and it wasn't his fault that he was sorely wishing that there'd been some truth to Rodney's rumor.

"Oh my god," Rodney whispered, his previously animated form now slumped over the stool. "Nothing _did_ happen… but that's not to say that you weren't hoping otherwise?"

Carson rolled his eyes, "Rodney…"

"No, no, I get it now. You want to… with…"

"Rodney, stop. Alright? There's nothing's going to come of it, so just stop. Please." Carson hadn't meant to sound so plaintive. He didn't need McKay making fun of him. The only thing worse than having an unrequited crush was having a friend who knew you had an unrequited crush. Especially one who talked as much as Rodney McKay.

"You seem awfully sure of that," Rodney said, studying his friend.

"He's U.S. military, Rodney, so…" Carson shrugged, letting Rodney fill in the end of his sentence.

"He doesn't care about that."

"Oh, and you know." Carson said acerbically as he got up and moved to the small lab sink and started rinsing out test tubes just to that he didn't have to look at the almost-pitiful look Rodney was giving him.

"I do know. We've talked about it." Rodney moved into the more comfortable chair Carson had vacated.

"You talked to him – about – you talked –" Carson knew he was stuttering, but couldn't seem to get a full thought out.

"Not about you," Rodney said with a roll of his eyes that clearly said that he couldn't believe Carson thought he could be that cruel. "Just in general. It started when Peter Grodin started dating that marine girl. The blond one with the big –"

"Rodney!" Carson knew whom he was talking about and cut him off before it got vulgar.

"Anyway, we were talking one day about how if we were, you know, stuck here indefinitely that people would eventually start forming relationships. And we were talking about what do we do if it's a military and non-military person together? What if it's people in the same chain of command? " Rodney wound up with, "What if it turned into an issue of 'don't ask don't tell'?"

Carson put the cleaned test tubes into the rack that would go into the sterilizer. "And?" he said when Rodney didn't seem to be getting to the point.

"And he said that as long as it's not causing trouble at work, as long as no one's being pressured into something by a superior officer or something, he doesn't give a damn who's doing who." Rodney had picked up the small jar of hard candies from the corner of Carson's desk and was fiddling with the way the light bounced off the few bits of decorative metal.

"Yes, well, that's all well and good, but that doesn't actually mean that he's interested in men in general or me in specific." Carson rinsed out the second set of tubes and shook them so hard that one slid out of his wet hand and smashed into the wall.

Rodney bolted up, staring at the mess and shaking his head.

Carson sighed and grabbed a pair of thick rubber gloves used for handling hot glassware and started picking up the pieces out of the sink.

Rodney put the candy dish down after helping himself to a peppermint and stood behind Carson. "Look, I may be talking out my ass, we both know people aren't my thing, but I was there when you got sick on that planet and I was in the Daedalus' infirmary with him… Let's just say that if I were you, I wouldn't give up." Rodney squeezed his shoulder and left him to think and clean up the splinters.

Carson wondered which was going to be harder. Cleaning up the aftermath of Rodney's rumor or keeping Rodney from trying to clean it up… with the truth. He finished rinsing the last of the glass splinters down the drain, glad that at least one mess was fairly self-contained.

As for the other… At least he knew where he had to start.

"Ah, Colonel," Carson said as John stepped into the lab. "Thanks for stopping by."

"No big deal. Something wrong?"

Carson indicated the stool Rodney had left near the desk as he took a seat. "There seems to be a little bit of a problem."

John leaned forward, propping his elbow on the edge of the desk. "Something wrong with my bloodwork or –"

"You bloodwork?" Carson asked, his mind so singularly focused on Rodney's little rumor that he'd forgotten for the moment that when most people were called in to talk to a doctor, it was about something medical. "Oh, no, nothing like that. Nothing like that at all." He was babbling, he knew, but he couldn't find the words to explain what he needed to.

John suddenly grinned at him, "Oh! Then this is about McKay going around telling everyone we're sleeping together?"

Carson couldn't reckon the bright, sunny grin with John already knowing about Rodney and Teyla and the whole damn mess. He'd expected John to be furious and demanding that they both put and end to this nonsense once and for all. "So you've heard about that?" he asked meekly, no longer sure what to expect and trying extraordinarily hard not to allow the fact that John wasn't pissed let him start thinking that Rodney was on to something.

John sobered a little and took a deep breath, before going out on a limb, "I'm sorry… it didn't bother me. I guess I didn't stop to think that it might bother you. I've been accused of way worse than sleeping with an attractive guy before. So when McKay went all, 'aren't we teammates and don't teammates tell each other everything?' on me I just gave him real non-committal answers. Just to see what he'd do. I meant to wind up McKay, not you. I'm sorry, I should have thought…" John reached forward and put a hand on Carson's arm.

Carson was still wrapping his brain around the idea that John had said he was attractive and that he wasn't disturbed by the idea that people might think there was something between them.

"Well," he finally said, blushing, "You did a good job of it at that. You should have seen him in here, accusing me of keeping secrets from him and spouting all kinds of nonsense."

John grinned. "So we're good."

Carson smiled back, "Oh, aye. We're good."

John started for the door, but turned back before it could close behind him. "By the way, I still have that movie."

Carson smiled. He'd certainly had worse days.


	4. Getting Into Your Genes

**Title:** The Human Body IV: Getting into Your Genes  
**Author**: Waldo.  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Pairing**: Sheppard/Beckett  
**Featured Players:** Teyla, Zelenka  
**Spoilers:** "Runner"  
**Summary**: Carson and John develop independent theories about why some people have better control with the gene than others. Carson spills blood to prove his. John just plays games.  
**A/N:** Arricdream cut her beta teeth on this piece. Thanks, Dream! Any remaining errors or confusions are mine alone. The term of the episode (the one I seem to have to explain) is dumb-cane. It's the common name for the plant Diffenbachia that purportedly causes anyone who chews it to temporarily lose their voice.

**The Human Body IV: Getting into Your Genes  
By: Waldo. **

John let his forward momentum carry him as he grabbed the door jam straight-armed and swung into Carson's lab. "Hey Carson!"

He wasn't ready for the strangled scream and string of curses that his greeting was returned with.

When Carson seemed to be wrapping up the long stream of words John hadn't realized Carson even knew, let alone used, John noticed that the doctor's finger was bleeding rather profusely. He scrunched up his face in sympathy and guilt. "Uh-oh… Did I do that?"

Carson took a small pipette and drew some of the blood up before walking over to the small sink in the corner. "It's nothing," he finally said as he rinsed off the offended digit, grabbed a paper towel and put pressure on the wound.

Still feeling guilty, but not sure why, John slowly moved closer. "Did I _do_ that?" he asked again.

"It's nothing. I was drawing a little blood, and you startled me and I drove the lancet in a little deeper than was really necessary."

"Can I get you a band-aid or something?" John offered, not sure what else to do.

Carson nodded to a first aid kit on the back wall. "Thanks."

John couldn't figure out why he found a packed first aid kit in a medical lab funny. It was like having MREs in a full kitchen he supposed. He found one of the funky butterfly-shaped fingertip bandages and peeled the wrapper off. He took a couple of tissues off the box on Carson's workbench and took hold of Carson's hand. He wiped the blood off and put the bandage on, all the while feeling somewhat ridiculous for trying to render medical aid to the Chief Medical Officer. "Sorry about this," he said as he tossed the tissues.

"I'll live; I promise," Carson said with a smile.

John leaned back against the counter. "What the hell were you sticking yourself for, anyway? Don't you have people to do that?"

"I had an idea about the Ancient gene that I wanted to check out. You'll be next, by the way."

John rolled his eyes. "Fabulous."

"Yes, well, as long as no one goes around trying to scare the life out of me while I'm getting your sample, it'll be a little less traumatic." He smiled to show he wasn't really holding a grudge.

"Sorry," John muttered again. "So," he started, desperately wanting to change the subject, "What's the new break through?"

"Oh, I don't know if you can call it that. Right now it's just a theory." Carson picked up the pipette and began prepping the blood for… something. John couldn't tell what.

"Okay, what's the theory?" he pressed. He was surprised when he had to ask twice. In his experience, asking an Atlantis scientist what he or she was working on was good for a lecture of at least an hour.

"You'll stop me when I get boring?" Carson asked, still working.

"Fine," John agreed.

"I've been wondering why we're seeing such varying degrees of ability to control the Ancient technology. You don't even have to try. I can make most anything work, but it takes a more than a bit of concentration. Rodney can only get about half of the things to activate that you and I can." He glanced up to see if John was following.

"Right," John said just to show that he was paying attention.

"Well here's the thing. I started wondering if what made the ATA gene work at different levels was along the same lines as what makes some people have green eyes."

John crossed his eyes, as if trying to see his own irises. "So you think I can handle the technology better because I have green eyes?" That sounded ridiculous.

"No," Carson laughed. "But here's the thing – and I'm simplifying a lot – the gene for blue eyes is recessive. The gene for brown eyes is dominant. But it's not always a complete dominance. If both your parents have blue eyes, all you can have is blue eyes. But if your parents both have brown eyes, there's a chance you can have blue eyes. If they each have a gene for brown and gene for blue and you get the blue gene from each of them."

"So where does the green come in?"

"The brown-eye gene isn't always completely dominant. If you get one blue-eye gene and one brown-eye gene, they can mix and give you green eyes." Carson explained.

"And this has what to do with Ancient technology?"

"Well, with genes moving in pairs as they do, what if, in your case you got two ATA genes that were coded 'on' for lack of a better term? What if I have one that's 'on' and one that's 'off'? People without the gene… it's not so much that they don't have it – everyone has the same number of genes - it's just that theirs are both coded for 'off.' What the gene therapy does, somewhat incompletely, is to get one or both of them to switch to 'on.' Basically it forces a very specific mutation."

John crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. "I think what frightens me the most about all this is that I understood exactly what you were saying."

Carson smiled. "You asked," he reminded John.

"I did," John conceded. He had his own theories about the ability to control Ancient technology that had nothing to do with blood or microscopes or whatever it was Carson was playing with now, but he decided to wait to share his ideas. "I think the part I liked best was the part about Rodney being a mutant," John added.

"There are those who thought that long before I found the ATA gene or developed the gene therapy." Carson looked up from his work and caught John's eye. They both grinned at each other, and Carson could feel his cheeks warm just a little, like they always did when John smiled at him like that.

Carson looked back down at the blood sample. "So anyway, I doubt you came down here for a discussion on genetics. Did you need something?"

"Yeah. Dinner. You gonna be out of here any time soon?"

Carson wondered if the slightly giddy feeling the invitation left him with showed on his face. "I need about an hour to get this going. I really don't want to have to stick myself again tomorrow morning."

John thought about apologizing again, but decided it was time to let it go. "Okay. I'll come back in an hour." He pushed himself away from the counter and headed for the door. He had one hour to badger a certain Czech scientist into signing off on that piece of tech John had found a few days ago during one of the scheduled sweeps of the still-unexplored parts of the city.

John entered another lab and waited quietly while Zelenka finished whatever he was doing that had his head most of the way in a rather large box-shaped piece of ancient technology. He liked to consider himself a smart enough person to learn from his mistakes the first time. He didn't want to be the cause of damage for yet another one of Atlantis' crew, so he didn't come in hollering.

It was about five minutes before Radek started dragging his head out of the box and turned to see Sheppard standing not three feet away, waiting for him.

"_Do prdele_!" He jumped back, his head not having completely cleared the housing on the device, and cracking his skull on it.

John rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't," he mumbled under his breath.

"_Proboha_, Colonel. You should not go around sneaking up on people." Radek rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head.

"Sorry, Dr. Z." John was getting that 'can't win for losing' feeling. "I announced myself to the last person I dropped in on and he damn near drove a needle through his hand."

Radek was looking at him oddly through his glasses.

"Nevermind," John said, "Are you done with it?"

"Yes. I am. And yes, I managed to keep Rodney from knowing what it is. If we are right he would insist that he be the supervisor of it now that he has the gene as well." Zelenka pulled open the top drawer of the workbench he had claimed as his own and handed over a device about the size and shape of a life-signs detector. "If it does anything else, you will bring it back, yes?"

"Promise," Sheppard said as he pocketed it. "Where is McKay, anyway?"

"I think he is still trying to get Miko to run giegercounter over him. Again. He is convinced that the radiation on that planet has done irreparable harm . I try to tell him that if he does not stop complaining, that it is not radiation that he needs to fear doing that."

"I have never met someone more prone to complaining," John commiserated. He'd threatened Rodney for it a few times himself. He could hardly blame Zelenka and the rest of the science staff.

Zelenka leaned in conspiratorially "I heard he went to Dr. Beckett asking for sperm count. If rumors are true, Carson handed him specimen cup and pointed to a microscope and told him to count them himself."

John snorted. "You know I would have paid to have see that."

"As would have I," Radek agreed. "Carson certainly has a way of dealing with Rodney that I envy."

"Carson has long needles and 'bend over and cough' to put the fear of god into people like Rodney," John added.

Radek laughed. "Very true. Now, if I am to get any sleep tonight without waking up and running down here to try 'just one more thing', I should get back to this," Radek said, gesturing to the box, never once alluding to it's purpose. John supposed he'd find out soon enough. Despite having had to pull the genetics lecture out of Carson earlier, he still stood by his assertion that when the scientists had something to say, a case of dumb-cane wouldn't stop them.

"Alright. Thanks, Dr. Z.!" he called over his shoulder as he fairly skipped out of the engineering lab.

Carson had his blood sample ready to go and had the computer set up to record the results in forty minutes. He thought about calling Colonel Sheppard and telling he'd meet him in the mess, but then thought better of it. John had said he'd come back to pick Carson up for dinner. Now, dinner in the mess hall wasn't exactly a formal date, but the more he thought about it, the more he couldn't find reasons to think it wasn't an informal one. The thought made him a little giddy inside. He still had an unholy dread that he was misreading the colonel's general gregariousness , but more and more he was having a hard time convincing himself of that.

Precisely an hour after he left, John Sheppard was back in his doorway. He didn't risk swinging around the doorway again; instead, he stopped just inside the threshold and leaned against the storage cabinet near the door. "Ready?"

Carson pulled off his white coat and hung it on the peg on the near the door. "Yes. Sorry to make you wait." Secretly he was kind of excited that John would bother to wait for him.

John shrugged. "Sorry I damn near made you amputate your finger. I wouldn't want you to have to risk that again."

Carson held up his bandaged finger. "This is nothing. During my casualty rotation I was bitten by a two year old who really didn't want me looking down her throat. Took eight stitches."

John looked at him askew. "Damn, and I thought I had a dangerous job."

They chatted about their day and other mundane topics as they grabbed trays and decided what food looked the least lethal. Once they had what they needed John steered them to a table near the windows, looking over the rest of the city and the ocean.

Teyla asked to join them shortly after they sat down. Carson slid his chair a little closer to the window, "Of course, have a seat."

Teyla set her tray down. She sat and turned to Carson then looked at John, "I wanted to apologize for misspeaking the other day. I had no idea what the phrase 'sleeping together' meant to your people at the time. Doctor Weir has since explained why Doctor McKay suddenly turned red and lost his ability to form full sentences for a short while. My apologies if I have embarrassed anyone."

John snickered, still amused by the whole thing.

Carson smiled at Teyla. "No problem, love. It's just a bit of a misunderstanding. Honestly, I'm surprised we haven't had more of them. Idiomatic language can be problematic for English speakers of _one_ world who come from different cultures."

John poked at the congealed carrots on his plate. "I once heard someone say that England and America were two countries separated by a common language."

"That we are, sometimes," Carson agreed.

"But you are not from England," Teyla inquired. "Peter Grodin was from England. You are from Scotland, correct?"

"Well, I'm afraid it's a little more complicated than that. Properly, I'm from the United Kingdom, which is one country comprised of England proper, Scotland and several other nations. Most Americans tend to simplify and call it all England. I've learned that it's too much bother to correct them."

John looked slightly abashed, knowing he was guilty of that, but not knowing that it struck a nerve with anyone.

Realizing that John was looking a little sheepish Carson steered the conversation back to language. "At any rate, idioms tend to crop in the oddest ways amongst different groups of people who share a language. When we were at McMurdo we were waiting for Rodney to show up and start a meeting. It was an early meeting, and Rodney has a tendency to work late, so when I got up, I stopped by his quarters and pounded on the door until he answered it, so at least I'd know he'd gotten out of bed. So I get down to the conference room and Radek asked me if I'd seen McKay and I told him that I'd stopped by his room and knocked him up to be sure got out of bed."

John couldn't react fast enough to keep from spitting his milk out.

Carson smiled. "Aye. I knew immediately where every American in the room was. And most of the Canadians for that matter."

Teyla looked confused. "I do not understand."

"Where I come from," Carson explained, "to 'knock someone up' is to knock on the door, to visit them."

John finished wiping up the milk. "Where I come from 'knocking someone up' means getting them pregnant."

Teyla turned to him in confusion. She looked back at Carson. "Your people's interpretation of the phrase makes much more sense."

Carson nodded, "I thought so too. Since then I've just decided that it's safer not to use it at all."

John was still laughing. "You told a room full of geeks that you knocked up Rodney McKay. That's priceless."

Carson looked a little abashed. "The fun part came when Rodney finally showed up and everyone was asking him if he expected a boy or a girl and if he'd started picking out names. Of course he had no idea what anyone was on about."

John filed that away as fodder for the next time McKay started getting under his skin.

They spent the rest of dinner discussing the oddities of the English language. Why flammable and inflammable meant the same thing. Why no one ever got the phrase 'I couldn't care less' right and other inane things that absolutely no one at that table was really qualified to answer. But it was a light conversation and it was fun. John decided that there was far too little light conversation and fun on Atlantis.

When they were done they cleared up their trays and headed for the exit. There, Teyla took her leave of them, saying something about being invited to girls' poker night. John could see Carson getting ready to excuse himself as well, so he interrupted before Carson could say anything. "You busy now?"

Carson looked up and down the hall as if John might have been talking to someone else. "Not really, no."

"Cool. I want to show you something."

Carson was suddenly very nervous, but he followed John down the hall.

They stopped in front of John's door. John waved it open, but Carson stood rooted in front of him. "Your quarters? In case you've forgotten, I've seen your quarters before. In fact I've slept here before, remember?" Carson glanced up to see one of the new Marines that had just transferred in from the _Daedalus_ passing by. He couldn't think of her name – Laura something, he thought – and he realized she'd probably heard the last part of that. He waved at her sheepishly, "Hi," he said, blushing and wondering what she'd make of him and what he'd just said.

She just smiled, waved back and kept on walking, shaking her head.

John shoved him forward through the doorway. "You're not going to need Teyla starting rumors. You're doing fine on your own."

Carson turned to apologize, but the big grin on John's face stopped him. "Hey, you're the one who said there are worse things people could be saying about you."

"Have a seat," John said waving Carson into the room. He'd forgotten that his clean laundry was on the couch in a heap, waiting to be folded. "Um… here, sit on the bed. I forgot about the clothes." He grinned sheepishly.

Carson sat on the edge of the bed, and looked at John apprehensively.

"What?" John asked as he grabbed the device he'd retrieved from Zelenka and sat next to Carson.

"I didn't say anything," Carson said, sounding more defensive than he'd meant to.

"Well, no, but you're looking at me like you think I'm up to something," John confessed.

"You _look _ like you're up to something; what's that you've got there." Warning bells were going off in Carson's head. John had that half-grin that said he was going to propose something that would be at least nominally unpopular and he knew it.

"Consider it proof for the 'nurture' side of the 'nature versus nurture' debate on the gene." John held it out to Carson.

"The gene is clearly natural. Your genes don't change because of your environment and we've conclusively proven that the ATA gene is responsible for a person's ability to activate Ancient technology. There's no nurture element."

John sat down next to him put a hand between Carson's shoulderblades. Carson was getting way too worked up. He'd intended to mess with his head a little, but not make him nervous. Not like this at any rate. "Right, like you were saying earlier, you have the gene or not – or I guess you were saying the gene is 'on' or not. But I was thinking maybe it's more like this – some people are born with musical talent. Others have to practice, like, a thousand hours a day to get good, right? But at the end of the day both of them can play the same piece no matter if they were born with an innate ability to it or if they had to work at it."

Carson nodded starting to see where John was heading.

"And I think that maybe I found proof that I'm right." He tapped the device that was now glowing softly under Carson's fingers. "This is a ten-thousand year old Gameboy."

"A what?" Carson asked, studying it carefully. The edges were glowing a soft white, but the center remained dark.

"It's a videogame. Zelenka and I found it when we went up into that southern spire last week. He checked it out, and we can't figure out what else it could be."

"You think people who invented Stargates and cities that rise and sink had time to sit and play videogames?" Carson asked indignantly.

"No," John said with a smile.

Carson glared at him.

"Which means it actually served another purpose. It only responds to people with the gene. Zelenka couldn't get it to do squat. I spent about six hours the other night playing this damn game. It's addictive as hell. Every play Tetris?"

Carson nodded, "Actually yes."

"Okay, so you get it. Anyway, we determined that when the Ancients started to work this whole telepathy thing into the city, they had to learn how to control it. This, we figured, was a training tool." John tapped the edge of the device. "Turn it on."

Carson flipped it over and then around on it's edge, sliding his fingers around looking for a hidden button.

John took it, reoriented it and handed it back. "Turn it _on_."

The emphasis on the last word wasn't lost on Carson. He blushed a little. John had just gotten done telling him that it was a gene-controlled device. He spared John a little glare and sighed before thinking the device to life.

John's hand came down over the screen just as he did. "Is this a bad idea?"

Carson glanced up, "What?"

"Me foisting this thing on you. I know you get nervous using the gene. I thought maybe it you had a way to fine-tune your control… But if you really don't want to…" John shrugged.

"Can I shoot anything with it?" Carson asked, feeling somewhat badly that he'd crashed John's good mood.

"No. It's a game. Perfectly safe."

"As far as we know," Carson added knowing that Atlantis was always full of surprises and nothing was ever guaranteed.

John rolled his head back and forth, "As far as we know," he echoed. "But seriously. I played for six hours the other night and nothing blew up."

Carson smiled a little, finally willing to joke about what had remained unsaid between them for over a year, "Yes, but you were able to sit in the chair in Antarctica without blowing things up either. I didn't do as well with that one."

"Yeah, but I got the benefit of your experience. I knew better than to think about launching any glowing squids at anything passing by," John squeezed Carson's shoulder, glad Carson was finally able to joke about that day.

"Well it's not like that was what I was thinking exactly, you know!" He swatted John on the chest. "I have no idea how I launched that damn thing."

"Want my guess?" John asked.

"Sure."

"No one knew what the chair could do, exactly. You knew General O'Neill got it to launch the drones, but beyond that no one knew what it could do. Including its potential to hurt someone. You were thinking about keeping yourself safe. The chair interpreted that as 'defense'."

"So it launched a drone," Carson concluded, "Could be. Could be that all I knew about the damn thing was that Colonel O'Neill launched all those weapons from there. I guess I was thinking about the drones." He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "I am sorry about that whole mess."

"I know. But I'm not. If you hadn't almost shot us down, I never would have been let into the base, I never would have sat in the chair and I wouldn't be here now. So all in all, it ended up being a good thing." John scooted back on the bed, crossing his legs.

Carson tilted his head, thinking about that. "Well, when you put it like that…"

John smiled and nodded at the game. "Alright, so let's see if we can fine tune your gene-skills." He noticed that the game had dimmed again as they talked. "Turn it back on."

Carson took a deep breath and thought the unit back on.

The screen showed something that looked like a cross between a fruit bat and a boomerang and it appeared to be holding a teal tennis ball. Carson idly wondered about the Ancients' fascination with the color teal. There was also the image of a shallow rounded track that snaked back and forth a few times from the top right corner of the screen to the bottom left.

"Okay, see the round thing at the top?" John asked, leaning back to try and see the screen. Now that he wasn't the one playing he realized that he couldn't see the screen if he wasn't looking at it dead-on. He was going to be calling these plays from memory if he couldn't find a better angle.

Carson nodded.

"Okay, when you tell it to start, a chain of colored balls is going to come out of it. There are about 5 different colors. You need to move the ball from the bottom to the chain in order to make groups of the same color that are three or longer. When you do, they'll disappear and you'll get a different ball at the bottom. If you can't get rid of the chain before they get to the bottom, you have to start over. If you get through a level, it does these progressively cool little light shows as a reward and then you get a harder level." John was now twisting around to look over Carson's shoulder, but still wasn't able to discern the shapes on the screen.

"What are you doing?" Carson asked as John tried yet a different approach.

"Trying to see the screen. I guess you're not supposed to eavesdrop on someone else's game or something." Giving up, John kicked off his shoes and moved up on the bed behind Carson, one foot tucked in, the other leg sliding along Carson's. "This okay?" he asked.

"Oh, aye. Fine," Carson said, hoping he didn't let on how 'fine' it was.

John put one hand on Carson's shoulder to steady himself and reached around him with the other to point at the screen, showing him different helps and hints to get through the level. "Okay, ready?"

Carson shrugged. "I suppose."

"Tell it to start," John said quietly, moving his other hand to Carson's other shoulder.

After a few spectacularly wild shots, Carson got a red ball to link up with two others and they popped like soap bubbles and disappeared. He sat up straighter, a little grin appearing as he gave his full attention to the game. It took three tries before he could clear the first level, and that was only with John leaning over and pointing out some combinations Carson would have missed.

On level two, the game started adding twists. When a chain of one color was vaporized leaving exposed ends of the same color, the game would jerk the two ends together, causing a number of misfires as Carson lost track of where the balls were and where they were going. After hitting a series of green balls that made a chain reaction of five explosions, Carson turned around to smile at John and found that they were nose-to-nose with the way John was leaning over him.

John smiled at him and their eyes locked. Carson grew self-conscious and broke their gaze, glancing down. He wanted to say he was surprised when John took his chin and tipped his head up before kissing him. But he really wasn't.

It was awkward and tentative at first. Carson realized that neither of them wanted to seem pushy, but neither did either of them want to give the impression that this was a bad idea.

After a few minutes, John let go of his chin and pulled back, eyebrows raised.

Carson smiled shyly. He wanted to make the kind of joke John would have made at that juncture but for the life of him, he couldn't think of anything witty. In fact he really couldn't think of much of anything other than how to get John to kiss him again.

John was looking at him a little sideways when he looked back up. "Bad idea?" John asked timidly.

Carson's eyes grew big as he tried to figure out what in his body language was sending off the most incredibly wrong signals in the world. "No… no, not at all." He wondered if he'd misinterpreted. If John was trying to back away from what he'd done. "Unless you think it was –"

"No," John interrupted. "No, I don't think it was a bad idea. In fact, I kind of thought it was a pretty good idea."

Feeling a little bolder, now that he knew John felt the same. "Would it be a good idea to do it again?"

"Let's find out."

Carson smiled into their second kiss. After only a few seconds his back chose the worst moment to decide that it really couldn't take being twisted around any more. He pulled back with a grimace.

John looked at him questioningly.

"Sorry, my back doesn't seem to like twisting like that for very long," Carson apologized.

"I can fix that," John announced scooting back until he was propped against his pillows. "Come here."

Carson untied his boots and toed them off, sliding back until he was sitting next to John, now feeling incredibly self-conscious and intensely curious about where John intended this to go.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Carson denied automatically.

John sized up the situation pretty quickly. He situated himself on his side, facing Carson. He pulled on one of Carson's hands. "Lie down," he told him. Carson did so, setting his head on the edge of the pillow and letting John continue to hold his hand. He realized, belatedly that he still had the game in his other hand. John took it and reached back to set it on the bedside table.

John had a thought that he hoped would help break some of the tension that had sprung up. "Your back still hurt?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just twisted around for too long."

"Where?" John asked sliding his free hand over Carson's waist around to see if he could feel the bunched muscles under Carson's shirt. He thought he had it, but couldn't be sure, so he pressed a little. Carson stiffened and bit back a yelp. "Come on, on your front," John said in a voice that said he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. He pulled Carson over until he was flat against the blankets, his head on his arm on the pillow.

After finding the sore spot again, John tugged Carson's shirt down over it so that it wouldn't bunch as he rubbed the heel of his hand over the tense muscles. "Next time we do that, we should really try it face to face. I'm thinking it would work better."

Carson smiled; a next time would be good. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

John found himself extraordinarily pleased that Carson was amenable to kissing him again. He focused on the knot in Carson's back. He pushed gently with his fingertips to map out the edges of the rigid muscles. "This is an awfully big knot for just having been twisted funny for a few minutes," he observed.

"It's not just from that. Actually, the muscles have been stiff since we got back from that planet – the one where you picked up that Mr. Dex character. Operating standing up on a patient who's still conscious and upright is not conducive to good back health." He glanced up at John's clock. "I guess I'm due for some more Motrin." He shrugged. "It's not so bad."

"I've got aspirin or Advil or something around here if you want it," John offered, still carefully kneading the muscles with the heels and palms of his hands, careful not to poke with his fingers.

"You keep up like that," Carson said quietly, "and I really don't think I'll need any more meds tonight."

"Cool," John said, sitting up to get better leverage and to make it easier use both hands.

Carson just moaned appreciatively.

"So what do you think of Ronon?" John asked conversationally.

"Well, now that he's not holding a gun on me or any of my friends, I suppose he's alright. He was a wee bit more friendly with me when he came in this morning for me to take his stitches out of his back. I asked one of the nurses to do it, but he growled at her." Carson glanced up to see if John believed him.

"Growled?"

"I'm not joking. He made it pretty clear that since I put them in I was taking them out." Carson settled his head back on his arm.

"You're saying that to be flip," John observed, "but I think you're more right than you know. I knew some pilots like that in Afghanistan. Once you had their trust it was damn near impossible to blow it, but earning it was a bitch. Ronon trusts you. You got that thing out of him. I'm really not that surprised he reacted like that." John applied steady, hard pressure to a particularly stubborn muscle. "You should be pleased. I'm not sure he trusts me that much yet."

"He thinks it's his responsibility to find Lieutenant Ford now," Carson told him.

"How does he figure that?"

Carson shifted so that he could see John out of the corner of his eye. "He said that you had an agreement that if I got the transmitter out of his back, he'd get Ford for you."

John sighed and stretched out next to Carson, one hand still moving slowly over the sore spot on his back. "That's not his job. It's mine. I've lost him twice now."

The melancholy in John's voice caught Carson's attention. He shifted to his side so he could see John properly. "You'll find him. And you'll bring him back," he said firmly. Carson wanted to promise that he'd get Ford back to normal once he did, but after all this time he wasn't sure that he'd be able to keep that promise.

John sighed and shifted onto his back, he wanted the chance to talk to someone about what had happened almost a week ago back on that planet, but it had spoiled what was starting out to be a remarkable evening. He lay still debating whether or not to try and drop the subject or to take the opportunity he'd been presented with.

He was startled out of his contemplation when Carson took his hand and held it lightly. "Have you had a chance to talk to anyone about what happened back there?"

John felt the wall slam up. Felt his 'soldier face' go on. He tried shed them both, but his training was too well ingrained and he found himself talking without consciously choosing his words. "What's to talk about? He got away. He's in enemy hands now with a drug addiction that makes him dangerous as hell to both us and them. I have to get him back before he tells them what they want to know."

Carson's hand slid up from John's hand to his elbow and then up to his shoulder. "You don't have to pretend you're not worried about a friend with me. Maybe Colonel Caldwell only sees him as a security risk, but you don't," Carson scolded quietly. "He was your second in command and your friend. And you're very much afraid that the next time you go home you're going to have to see his family and tell them that he's gone."

John sighed and closed his eyes, wondering when he'd become so transparent. "I can't decide which will be worse – knowing that he's gone or knowing that he's back and that he'll never be able to go home again. What if he can't break this addiction?"

Carson had been worrying about the same thing himself. "We'll do everything we can for him."

John nodded, knowing that that was all Carson could promise. "What are his chances?" He took Carson's hand from his shoulder and held it close to his chest.

"I'm not sure. He was physiologically addicted when he left and it's the sort of condition where he's going to require more and more of the enzyme to get the same effect. Weaning him off of it will be dangerous and," Carson took a deep breath and squeezed John's hand, "And he's going to be bloody miserable throughout the process. Depending on his condition when we retrieve him, I may try and do some of the detoxing with him in a drug-induced coma just so he's not in so much pain. But with what that enzyme is doing to his system, he may end up just metabolizing the drugs. We'll have to see."

John nodded. It wasn't much good news, but he'd been cursed with a vivid imagination and therefore always preferred to have as much information as possible to keep himself from coming up with a thousand scenarios that were even worse than the truth. "McKay says he's completely nuts."

"We could see that even when we first got him out of the water that it made him somewhat paranoid. I'm afraid I didn't help that much by trying to keep him sedated and keeping armed guards at the door."

"But that's what drugs like that do, right? Isn't one of the symptoms of drug use paranoia? Not that he's 'doing drugs' like we usually think of it, but…"

Carson nodded against the pillow. "Aye. He acts a little shifty, so we get nervous, so he thinks we're afraid of him, so he acts a little shifty… It's a vicious cycle."

John flipped onto his back, still holding Carson's hand. They were silent for several minutes before John finally sighed and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to have you come over just so I could dump on you."

Carson looked down at their joined hands. It wasn't the best of conversations, but he wasn't complaining. "I don't mind. Besides, I talking to you is easy. Comfortable."

John looked over at him at that, until Carson elaborated, "A lot of people come to talk to me when something's bothering them. It's part of the job and I don't mind it at all. But sometimes that means it can be difficult for me to find someone to talk to when _I_ have a bad day, you know? I don't want to unload on people who have come to tell me about their bad days. I don't feel that… detachment from you. It's nice."

John knew he was blushing, but he wasn't sure why. He worked hard to maintain his laid back attitude and easy-going demeanor. He wasn't sure why it was so shocking that it was paying off in exactly the ways he hoped it would. He wasn't sure what to say, so he just rolled over and kissed Carson again, hoping that would convey what he was feeling.

All discussion stopped as they explored this new dimension of their relationship. John found it infinitely more enjoyable than discussing missing men and drug addictions. He slid one hand around Carson's back and tugged him closer until they were touching head to toe. Despite the newness and the obvious interest on both their parts, neither seemed in a hurry to rush things along. John couldn't remember the last time he'd indulged in a simple 'make out' session without feeling pressure to either move things along or back off. It was simple and unhurried and amazingly enjoyable.

John had a good sense of time. Usually. He rarely needed an alarm clock to wake up and liked to annoy Rodney by knowing the time without actually having to look at his watch. But he had no idea how long they'd been lying there making out like teenagers until he caught his clock out of the corner of his eye as he shifted to get comfortable.

"Oh damn," he whispered breathily.

Carson looked up, alarmed, "What?"

"It's later than I thought. And time doesn't usually get away from me like that." He raised an eyebrow at Carson.

Carson glanced behind him to John's bedside table, equally surprised by how late it was.

John made a face, not wanting to be the one to say the words that would send them on their separate ways.

"You have an early briefing tomorrow," Carson finally said.

"We," John corrected.

"What? We?" Carson said, pulling back a just enough to be able to focus on John's face.

"Teyla thinks we may find some survivors on that planet Halling and the others were on the other day. I told Elizabeth that I wanted you and a few marines on the ground with my team. You in case we actually got lucky and found someone. The marines in case we get _unlucky_ and find someone else." John pulled Carson back in by the hip, leaving his hand there until Carson stopped resisting.

"I see." He wanted to ask John exactly when he planned on tell him that he was being 'volunteered' again, but couldn't find it in himself to get cross. "From what I hear, Halling and the other Athosians were lucky to make it back to the gate before the Wraith hit the village," Carson said leaning in for another short kiss.

"Yeah. Teyla wants to get an early start tomorrow looking for survivors."

"So I suppose we should get some sleep. Seeing as we _both_ have to get up early now," he managed to let just a little of his annoyance slip out without actually sounding pissed.

"I suppose we should," John agreed, kissing him again and not making the slightest move to get up.

Carson leaned his head against John's for a minute while he attempted to recover his composure. He was relatively certain that if anyone saw him in the hall looking as dazed as he felt, they'd instantly know what he'd been up to.

He took a couple of steadying breaths and then rolled to sit up on the edge of the bed. "Alright then."

John rolled up to sit next to him. "Pick this up tomorrow?"

Carson knew he was blushing now. "Oh, aye. Long as things go well on that planet."

John smiled as he rose, offering a hand to pull Carson to his feet. "Yes, well. Our lives are rather dictated by the vagueries of the Wraith, aren't they?"

Carson nodded. "That they are."

John walked him to the door and kissed him thoroughly once more before commanding the door to open. "Tomorrow. Or whenever," he said with a smile.

Carson just blushed and averted his eyes, hoping no one would need to stop and talk to him in the halls. He was sure he was broadcasting what he'd just been up to all over the place.

He ducked out and had gotten a few feet down the hall when he heard John call his name. He turned back to see what was wrong. He barely caught the video game John tossed to him. "Practice. Let's see what level you can take it to next time."

Carson stammered at the blatant double entandre. He just raised his eyebrows before turning away and sauntering down the hall to his room.

end

Science checked on-line via 'genetics for dummies'-type sites, but I make no claims to be 100 accurate.

Czeck translations done from on-line translator.

Do prdele! – fuck!  
Proboha – my god!


	5. Killing Off a Few Liver Cells

John strolled into the infirmary, hands in his pocket, his most charming smile plastered on his face.

Carson took one look at him and tried to find a place to hide. That look rarely ended up with anything less than trouble for them both.

"Hi, Carson."

"Hello, Colonel," he returned, keeping things professional between them. He was well aware that he was much more able to tell _Colonel Sheppard_ 'no' than he was _John_.

John's eyebrows shot up. "What's with that?" John asked him.

Carson crossed his arms across his chest. "Don't think I haven't seen that look enough times to know to avoid it."

John tried to look all affronted, but ended up smiling again. "Hey, this is me asking first. I promised no more volunteering you to go off-world without asking you first. So I'm asking."

"What sort of nonsense have you and Rodney gotten into now?"

"No, it's not like that. We're working on a trade agreement with the kindly folks on P83-XR2 and one of the things they look like they could use is some medical help. They have these kids they call 'blue children'. Therrassa said that most of them die before they reach adulthood and from what I saw everyone's real careful to see that these kids don't get up and run around too much. I think they're asthmatic. But you'd know better than I would."

Carson sighed. John knew damn well that his dislike for leaving Atlantis would be trumped by kids who needed care. Especially when it sounded like something as simple as managing asthma. "When are you going back?" he asked as he grabbed a box from a nearby shelf and started putting various medicines and pieces of equipment into it.

"Rodney and Teyla are still there. Ronon and I came back to get you." John took the box and followed Carson around the infirmary, holding it while Carson moved from shelf to shelf collecting what he needed.

"What, if you being charming didn't work, you were going to send Ronon in to 'convince me'?" He regretted the joke when he saw the stricken look on John's face, but he was still trying to figure Mr. Dex out.

"You're kidding, right? You don't think I'd really do that, do you?"

"No," Carson said patting him on the shoulder. "You might sic Elizabeth on me though."

John shrugged. "That I might do. Besides, Ronon likes you. He'd probably beat the crap out of I me /I if I ever suggested it."

Carson thought about that and shrugged. The Runner had been awfully protective of him ever since Carson had gotten the transmitter out of his back. "That he might." Once the case was filled, Carson took it back, closed it and handed it back to John. "Let me get my staff up to speed and let them know I'll be gone for a bit. I'll meet you in the control room in twenty minutes."

When word got around that a healer from the City of the Ancestors had arrived, the parents of 'blue children' from the three towns closest to the Stargate began bringing their children to be seen.

Carson ran some blood tests and collected other samples to see if there wasn't a way to reduce the number of children with the more serious, and ultimately fatal condition – cystic fibrosis. Right away he'd noticed some slight differences in the blood of these villagers and standard Earth-human blood. He wasn't sure what the difference meant in the long run, but he would be more successful in finding out using the larger, more complicated technology in Atlantis.

As John had suspected, many of them were asthmatic. But it also seemed that there was a high population of villagers who carried the gene for cystic fibrosis. More than one mother had turned away in tears when told that her child's condition couldn't be managed with simple medicine and minor life-style changes. Carson felt for them. He'd had a number of cystic fibrosis patients at the genetics clinic he'd worked at before going to Antarctica. Even on a world as technologically advanced as Earth with medicines and therapies and transplants, CF patients rarely saw thirty. On this world they rarely saw thirteen, and Carson wasn't equipped to deal with such a complicated disease here.

The rough cases were balanced out by the larger number of patients who responded well to albuterol and other easily obtained asthma medications. He'd sent no less than forty kids off with directions to go play like the other kids. Directions they'd never been able to follow until that day.

It was late in the evening when he sat with the village healer going over how to use a peak flow meter and how to administer medications. He made a note to make sure they could contact him should any of the children have an acute attack that would require a nebulizer. Unfortunately unless they also provided these people with an electrical generator, leaving them a nebulizer wasn't really a choice.

As they spoke in the healing house, gathered around the fire, they heard children playing outside. From his place under the window, Carson could hear a few girls laughing and whispering. As he leaned over and started to explain how to chart each child's lung capacity, there was a tentative knock on the door. Marip called for them to enter.

Four girls, all between ten and twelve years old stumbled in, pushing each other, even as they tried to hold themselves back. Finally, the one who seemed to be the oldest, one Carson remembered treating that afternoon, stepped forward, "We made sweet cakes and brought ajra juice. We wanted to say thank you. We made these ourselves." She looked back and forth between Carson and their own healer and giggled. That started the other girls giggling.

"That was very kind, girls," Marip said, beckoning them forward.

When they got closer, Carson could see that all four girls were girls he'd treated. "Well, the group of you look much better than you did this morning. But don't over do it," he cautioned. "It's got to be getting close to bed time for girls your age, doesn't it?"

Three of the girls turned to the youngest who just shrugged. "I guess we should take Eldee home and put her in bed," the oldest conceded. She handed Carson a basket covered with a cloth and one of her friends handed him a clay jug of juice roughly the size of a gallon of milk. Errand achieved, the girls ran back out, giggling.

Carson pulled back the corner of the cloth and saw what looked to be corn muffins. "Well, wasn't that nice of the lasses?"

Ronon had brought Carson some MRE chicken stuff while Carson finished up with the last few patients. Carson had tasted it politely since Ronon had gone to all the trouble, but as soon as he'd left to go play with the older boys who'd asked Ronon to teach them a Satedan version of football, Carson had pushed the nasty mess aside.

So he wasn't surprised at all when his stomach rumbled a bit at the sight of fresh muffins. Marip laughed and brought in plates and mugs from the antiroom. She set out the plates on the low table, carefully stacking Carson's notes to one side, and then pouring them both a glass of juice.

They spent another hour and half going over procedures and dosages and diagnostics while they ate the muffins and drank almost the whole jug of juice.

By the time the fire was starting to bank and all sounds of children playing had ceased, Carson realized that he was absolutely exhausted. When he stood, he found himself light-headed and dizzy. Marip eyed him with concern for a moment before her expression turned to one of mortified amusement. "Oh, no." She raised a hand to her face to cover her smile.

"Wha'? Wha's wrong?" Carson was sure he wasn't having that much trouble enunciating a minute ago.

"I think the girls pressed the ajra juice themselves too. And I think they may have chosen ajra that weren't… quite ripe."

Carson took comfort from the fact that whatever the result of unripe ajra juice, it apparently was more amusing than fatal. But he was getting kind of curious. And even more dizzy. "Is that why I feel so light-headed?" he asked her.

She nodded. "It'll pass by morning," she promised. "Perhaps I should see you to the rooming house. Your companions should have returned from the leadership house by now."

Carson nodded, and then regretted it when the world didn't seem to stop moving when he did. "Aye, that might be a good idea."

They had been given the finest rooms in the rooming house. The place reminded John of an upscale inn from the American colonial period. Bright sitting rooms, bedrooms with fancy bedcovers and hand-worked wooden furniture were lit by oil lamps and wall sconces. When they'd first arrived, there had been four of them and they'd each been given a room. With the arrival of the families from nearby villages to see Carson, the rest of the rooms had filled quickly.

John and his team were sitting in a private parlor, drinking tea and chatting – teasing Rodney mostly about how much he'd eaten at the banquet – when Carson was led in by Marip.

John saw the way he staggered and jumped up to catch him if he actually lost balance. He felt Ronon standing right behind him, also wary.

"Carson?" he asked, alarmed.

Marip smiled. "He will be well in the morning. I'm afraid he had rather a lot of unripe ajra juice. It was an accident." She looked sincerely apologetic, but still amused at Carson trying to stand still, but swaying like a tree in a hurricane.

John looked hard at Carson. He was flushed and unbalanced, and there was a completely inexplicable grin on his face.

Rodney said it before John had to. "Oh my god! He's drunk off his ass!"

Carson just looked up at John who now had him by both shoulders to keep him from going overboard. "Oh. Hullo."

John laughed at the completely innocent look on his face. "Hello to you too. How do you feel?"

"Oh, fine. Fine," Carson said as patted John's shoulder.

John glanced up at Marip, remembering that she was the healer for this town, "This isn't going to do anything to him, is it?"

"Nothing permanent," she reassured him. "He may seem… uncharacteristically complacent for a while. But he should fall asleep soon. He will be himself in the morning."

Rodney wasn't even trying to hide his amusement at Carson's predicament. "With a monster-sized hangover, I'd imagine."

Marip looked at him oddly. "Hang over?" she asked.

John cut Rodney off, while the situation was mildly amusing, they still needed to remember that they were acting as diplomats. Rodney was not diplomatic. Ever. "A hangover is that sick, nasty feeling you have the morning after you drink too much."

Marip seemed to think about that for a moment. "I have heard the men of the village describe such things resulting from drinks they have encountered on other worlds while trading. I assure you, ajra juice does not produce such ill effects."

"Oh, well, that's good." He looked down at Carson, "At least we won't be tiptoeing around you tomorrow and you won't feel the need to resort to threatening us with large pointy objects and/or 'drop your pants and cough.'"

Carson laughed, swaying forward so that his head hit John's shoulder. And then he just stayed there. John raised an eyebrow at the rest of the group in a 'Well, what're ya gonna do?' expression.

"Wait, wait, wait," Rodney hollered, causing everyone to look up at him. "You mean you've got something that'll let you get completely drunk, with no side-effects?" He waved his hands around as he was wont to do when thinking. "Okay, you know what?" he seemed to be addressing Teyla and Sheppard both, even though he was now wandering in a small circle and flapping. "Screw the grain and the meat. We need to be negotiating for some of this stuff."

Carson started laughing silently; John could feel him shake with it. He glanced down as Carson pulled his head back up. "Watch this," Carson whispered.

"What?" John asked, just as quietly.

"Sorry, Rodney. It's made of citrus. Something like a blood orange I think."

Rodney stopped instantly. "No." His eyes got huge and he looked like someone had just sent a letter from home informing him that his cat had died. "No. No no no nonono. That… that's not fair!"

Sheppard, Teyla and Ronon burst out laughing. Carson had dropped his head on John's shoulder again, and could be seen shaking with laughter. John wasn't sure if Carson was just saying that to wind Rodney up or if it was true. If it was a joke, it was a damn good one, he had to give him credit for that. John wondered idly if it was payback for the kiss. Though he had to think that Carson knew that that wasn't really Rodney at all. Either way, he wished for a camera to get a picture of McKay's face. John nodded to Marip. "Thank you for escorting him back. We'll take care of him from here."

She nodded, putting a hand on Carson's shoulder in apology before she left. He patted her hand awkwardly, "It's alright, love. I'll be fine in the morning, right?"

She nodded, "Of course. I will see tomorrow after early meal to finish going over the materials you are gifting us with."

"Alright then," Carson agreed.

Marip smiled at everyone one last time and left.

When the parlor door closed behind her, John pushed Carson back enough to look him in the eyes. He raised an eyebrow. "Juice, Carson?"

"I didn't know," he replied sheepishly, giggling. I'll have to get ahold of some to study. Most fruits we know of ferment as they get older, these apparently work in reverse… and chemically… well that's _very interesting_."

John laughed at the fact that Carson couldn't really put together a full explanation at the moment. "You need to go to bed."

Carson spun around in a small circle, looking over the sitting room. "Where?"

Rodney spoke up, "Uh, I think they said the hotel is full – 'no room at the inn' as it were. Everyone from like fifty miles around came in to see him."

Adopting a terribly put-upon look John sighed. "He can crash with me. Someone needs to keep an eye on him anyway, make sure that just because these people don't get sick or hungover that he won't."

Carson was laughing at John's self-sacrificing attitude. They'd found no need to tell anyone that they'd spent a few nights together recently – doing nothing but sleeping and a little making out – and even drunk, Carson wasn't going to be the first to let it slip. But he was pretty sure that John's act was just that – an act for his team. His suspicions were confirmed when he felt John squeeze the back of his neck and push him against his chest. "Shut up," John whispered through a tight grin. That just made Carson laugh even harder.

"I'll help you get him down the hall," Ronon volunteered.

John nodded, "Thanks."

As she turned to leave Teyla reminded them all, "Minister Therressa's aides will be coming to awaken us for the Dawn Embracement."

Rodney headed out for his room, "First they get you drunk then they wake you at the crack of dawn to celebrate a very common planetary phenomena – the sunrise. We're sure we want to deal with these people?"

Ronon slapped him upside the head as he passed.

Keeping an arm around Carson's shoulders, John steered him down to the last room in the hall. As the team leader, John had been given a room that was just slightly larger than the others. The bed would be plenty big for the two of them and the corner positioning of the room allowed for a very nice cross-breeze when both windows were open.

John let Ronon steer Carson to the bed as he fumbled with the oil lamp near the door. "Okay, these things suck. The rest of the universe needs to invent electricity." He could hear Carson giggle from where he'd slumped on the bed. "You want to do this?" he asked caustically, but with a smile no one could see in the dark.

Carson sighed and when John turned, he could see Carson trying to get back up, but Ronon pushed him back down gently. "I'll get it. You stay here."

Carson shrugged against the quilt. "Alright then."

John was still fiddling with the wick when Ronon shoved him out of the way and made quick work of lighting the lamp near the door before moving to light the larger one on the bedside table.

John was tugging Carson back into a sitting position to try and get him out of his gray jacket when Ronon sat in the armchair near the window and said, "McKay may have had a point, Sheppard."

"Yeah, on the top of his head," John snickered.

Carson laughed and then said, "Now, now that's not very nice."

"Then why are you laughing?" John asked as he finally freed Carson's left arm.

"I didnae say it was nae funny, just that it was nae nice," Carson said trying to enunciate, but only making his accent thicker.

John swatted his head. "What point did McKay possibly have, Ronon?" John asked, hoping to derail Carson.

"Maybe we should be negotiating for some of that fruit juice," Ronon told him.

John had finally gotten Carson free of his jacket and Carson had fallen back on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge, feet on the floor. "I'm not sure how much Elizabeth would appreciate that. I don't think she needs her staff getting accidentally drunk at breakfast some morning."

"There is something to be said for letting go of your inhibitions on occasion. It can be good for you," Ronon put in.

"Yes, because that's exactly what we need," Carson opined from the bed. "Rodney McKay being even less afraid to say what he really thinks. We'd all be doomed."

John had moved to the floor to start untying Carson's boots. "I thought Rodney couldn't have any because it was citrus based," John asked, not because he really thought they should be trading for booze, but because trying to have a conversation with Carson in the state was in, quite frankly, amused him.

"Ah, right. Though I'd imagine he'd want me to run a hundred and one tests to be sure that he really would be allergic to it. Can you imagine Rodney if his inhibitions were any lower than they normally are? He can't shut it now." Carson sat up on his elbows as he spoke, clearly fascinated by the idea.

"He'd probably be as much fun as you are," John said resisting the urge to tickle Carson's feet. "Though it might not be safe for Dr. Zelenka."

Ronon sat forward in his chair. "Why would Dr. McKay wish to harm Dr. Zelenka?

"Oh, not 'not safe' in that sense. I think Rodney has a crush on him. And if he got liquored up enough, he'd probably end up telling him. And, knowing Rondey's amazing sense of timing, half of Atlantis in the process.

"Crush?" Ronon asked, confused by the term.

Carson fell back on the bed. "Rodney's in love with him."

John moved to sit on the bed next to Carson. "You know that, or you're just clarifying for Ronon what it means to have a crush on someone."

Carson just shrugged and made a little 'hm' noise.

John shook his head at him. "Nevermind, I'm not sure I want to know."

"Do you need any more help with him?" Ronon asked John.

"Nah, I think we're good. I just need to get him to turn around and get under the covers. Hopefully he'll pass out shortly after that."

Ronon nodded. "Dr. Beckett, do you need anything else before you fall asleep?"

Carson let his head roll to the side so he could see Ronon – somewhat sideways and blurry – before answering, "Oh, no, son. I'm fine. Thank you very much."

Ronon looked up at Sheppard, clearly uncertain as to why Beckett was referring to him as his child, but Sheppard just shook his head in a 'don't ask' kind of way and Ronon let himself out.

John stretched out on the bed where he could run his fingers through Carson's hair. "You're pretty plotzed, you know that?"

Carson nodded. "You noticed that, did you?"

"Kind of hard to miss."

"Sorry."

John chuckled and messed up Carson's hair. "So far, no harm no foul. And a few laughs. So why don't you get turned around and into the bed. Marip says you'll be better in the morning."

Carson sighed the sigh of the much put-upon but pulled himself up and scooted around until he could slide his feet under the quilt and blanket. "You're staying, right?" he asked John, looking very earnest.

"Of course I'm staying – _you're_ in _my_ bed. Let me get these damn lights," John said as he, again, fought with the lamps, "and I'll be right there." He was grateful for the darkness that descended, because it let him smile at how adorable Carson was when drunk without anyone knowing it.

John shucked his own boots and jacket, made sure the safety was on on his nine mil and set it on the table on his side of the bed. He crawled in next to Carson, propping his head up on his hand. "You comfortable?"

Carson turned to face John. "Aye. You?"

John ran his hand up and down Carson's bicep. "I'm fine. You should really go to sleep."

Carson leaned in, his face mere centimeters from John's.

John laughed. They shouldn't. They so shouldn't, but Carson was being so cute. John hooked his arm around Carson's hips, tugging him a little closer and gently kissed him good night.

Carson responded to John's chaste kiss enthusiastically. John thought about pulling away and telling Carson to behave, but he couldn't bear the thought of hurting his feelings while he was this vulnerable. And besides, a little kissing never hurt anyone. It wasn't anything they hadn't done before. He smiled a little, and gave himself over to Carson's more enthusiastic kisses.

After a few minutes, though, he shot up, "Whoa, what're ya doin' there?" he asked in a lazy drawl as he pulled Carson's hand away from his own zipper.

"I'd think I'd not have to spell it out for you." Carson answered, and John couldn't tell if he was trying to be coy or if he was actually insulted.

"Carson, this is not a good idea," John said clearly, still holding the hand near his hip.

Even in the very dim light, John could see Carson's face fall, and from where he was he could feel the heat rise in his face. "I'm sorry. I … I must have misunderstood." Carson shuffled over to his side, his back to John.

Sheppard fell against the sheets and sighed. "Yeah, you did… but not like you think." He rolled over and curled up against Carson's back. "It's not that I don't want to go there with you. But tonight is the absolute worst night for something like this." He began gently stroking Carson's hair. "You understand that, right?"

Carson just shrugged, but at least he wasn't doing that petty, petulant pulling away thing so many other people John had dated tended to do if he had to postpone things. He kissed the back of Carson's head. "It's not like we weren't heading that – I aren't /I heading that way – anyway, but number one, you're drunk. I'd really like to be absolutely sure you don't think I'm taking advantage of you and number two, we're on a mission. And, yes, I'm going to sleep, but that doesn't mean I'm off duty. You get that, right?"

Carson relaxed under John's gently soothing hands. "I can't believe I did that. That was incredibly stupid."

John kissed the back of his head. "Do that again at home and I promise you there will be a very different outcome. But not here and not now, okay?"

Apropos to nothing Carson said, "Laura Cadman kissed me."

Deciding that at least the immediate issue of where Carson's hands belonged had been taken care of, John squared them away so that they were more comfortable. Because apparently now they were going to talk. "Again?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh, no… I mean, it was Rodney's body, but not… no wonder Rondey wants to get drunk," Carson's brain leapfrogged through his thoughts.

John wasn't sure if he was being thick or if he really didn't understand what Carson was saying. "I didn't need to be drunk to kiss you."

He could sense Carson's smile. "No, I just meant the whole ordeal. Having another person – one who's hell bent on playing yenta for you no less – literally shoved in your head. That had to be quite difficult. I would have spent the entire time terrified that she was getting into my deepest, darkest secrets."

"Well, Rodney would have gotten into a few of hers too. So my guess is that they would have reached some kind of truce on that one early on. Besides, Cadman's a good kid. She really wouldn't have made it any harder on Rodney than she had to." As Carson relaxed John was able to tug on his shoulder until Carson rolled over to face him again. "So what was it like kissing him… her… him… whoever?"

"Mortifying," Carson answered at once. "And not because it was Rodney… well, alright to a degree because it was Rodney, but mostly because everyone was standing there - _you_ were standing there – watching. I mean, seriously, I'm glad the poor girl didn't die with that as her last kiss. That would have been a real waste."

John laughed and pulled Carson in, hugging him tight. "You crack me up," John told him, placing a soft kiss on Carson's forehead. He let Carson pull back enough to tip his head up.

John took the hint. He gave him one more kiss good night before they settled down to sleep. Carson rolled back onto his side, but this time he snuggled his back against John's front, and John let one arm drape over Carson's waist as they drifted off together under an alien moon.


	6. Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes

**Title:** The Human Body VI: Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes  
**Author**: Waldo.  
**Pairing**: Sheppard/Beckett  
**Words**: 3925  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Warnings**: None  
**Summary**: He felt like he was thirteen with his first crush all over again when Carson smiled at him like that. "They teach you how to avoid answering questions directly in medical school?"  
**Notes**: Post-"Condemned" story. Makes a brief reference to events in the fifth story, HB V: Killing off a Few Liver Cells.

**The Human Body VI: Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes **

Now that everyone had been tended to, Carson was able to catch up on his notes. He pulled a chair over to Colonel Sheppard's bedside and pulled up Rodney's file first. _McKay, Rodney: Bruises on his left shoulder and arm, low blood sugar, minor abrasions on neck and wrists. Discharged with oral pain meds as needed, ice for sore shoulder. Despite his protestations his teeth are fine, no evidence of endocarditis found. _

Teyla had been cleared quickly and easily. A few bumps and bruises from the crash and fighting the Wraith, but nothing that needed his attention.

_Dex, Ronon_. Carson sighed. The man insisted that he was fine, but a hole in the ankle and slight concussion said otherwise. _Tears to right achillies tendon, skin punctures to same ankle through and through, forehead contusion, mild concussion. Monitor in infirmary for at least twenty-four hours. Pain meds as needed, full course of antibiotics, change the dressing on the ankle each day. No sparring or exercise that would stress the ankle for one to two weeks._ He knew the runner would love him for that one. Though interestingly enough, he also knew that Ronon would follow his instructions to letter. _Recheck in three days. _

_I Sheppard, John. _ Carson sighed. A bit of bad timing during the race through the gate had made John's first concussion much worse as he was blown off his feet and landed on his head and back about twenty feet from the gate on the hard gateroom floor. _Teammate reports loss of consciousness following jumper crash, most likely due to head impacting control panel. Patient was alert and responsive several minutes after impact. Initial head trauma complicated by additional head trauma when coming through the gate. Also notable severely contused left knee, back and left elbow. Severe bruising noted on both shoulders and across chest, also likely from impact with jumper control panel. Patient was rendered unconscious after second head trauma. Scans reveal no obvious neck or skull fractures, though there may be a bone bruise above the right eye. Three hours post-trauma, patient has not regained consciousness. Additional comments: minor abrasions to neck and wrists. Treatment plan: monitor in infirmary, neurological checks hourly, anti-inflamitories and ice for swelling, pain management upon awakening.  
_

Carson tapped his stylus against the edge of the tablet. The compound head trauma was a concern. This was hardly John's first bump in the head, but to have lost consciousness from two separate injuries so close together was likely as not to produce some pretty significant complications. He opened the file again. _Possible complications to be on the alert for: nausea, double vision, loss of memory. _ He hesitated before adding _cognitive impairment. _

He closed the file and leaned his elbow on John's bed. "What have ya done to yourself this time?" he asked quietly.

He didn't expect the quiet, "the floor di' it," from near his elbow.

Carson jumped up and grabbed his penlight, ruffling John's hair as he tilted his head. "So, you've finally decided to join us, have you?" He pulled John's sluggish eyelid up and shone his penlight in, which earned him a decidedly unhappy groan and got his hand slapped back.

"Don' do that," John complained.

"You've had a serious head trauma; you're in for a full neurological workup. If you pass it, I'll let you go back to sleep." Carson tried not to sound too brusque, but it was difficult to separate the patient in front of him with the man he'd been getting more and more involved with.

"What happened?" John asked groggily, trying to focus on Carson.

"Why don't you tell me?" Carson said moving down to toss the sheet back and test the reflexes in his knees.

John winced as his leg jerked and then his memory caught up with him, "_Don't_ do that to my other knee!" he said urgently.

Carson squeezed his calf. "I wasn't planning on it. Can you move that leg at all?"

John nodded, "Of cour-" He was cut off as he attempted to bend his swollen knee and found it quite uncooperative and more painful than he would have expected. "Okay, maybe not," he shifted gears.

Carson just nodded and went over to check John's babinski reflexes and then covered his feet up when John started to complain of cold toes. Moving back to his head he asked quietly, "I don't suppose you can tell me your name and rank?" John did so. "Know where you are?" John muttered several unkind things that ended with "Atlantis infirmary" so Carson let the slander pass. "Know who I am?" he asked.

John looked around the room and it took Carson a minute to realize that John was looking around to see who was nearby before answering. Carson smiled, knowing the kind of answer that was on the tip of John's tongue. "Before you decide to share anything you weren't meaning to, Ronon's in the bed right across from yours," he cautioned.

John smirked. "Fine, _Doctor_ Beckett."

Carson gently mussed his hair. "How does your head feel?"

John's smile fell and he just looked up at Carson forlornly.

"That bad, eh? Well, now that you're conscious and seem to be neurologically sound – or at least as sound as you were when you left here this morning – we can start you on some pain meds. Need something for your stomach too?"

John nodded, but winced as he moved his throbbing head.

Carson nodded and squeezed his hand. "I'll write some orders and send a nurse to get your meds."

As Carson turned to go, John reached out and snagged his lab coat. "How bad is Ronon?"

Carson should have known he wouldn't go to back to sleep without checking on his team. "He's going to need some pretty strong antibiotics for that hole in his ankle. And he's going to need to go easy on it for a few weeks. Though I suspect that telling him that will be as useful as a chocolate teapot. He's got a minor concussion, so I'm keeping him here overnight. He's less than excited about that, but he hasn't tried to escape yet."

A low, rumbling voice from the other side of the infirmary chimed in. "When you were drunk Sheppard mentioned that anyone who crosses you in the infirmary will live to regret it. Something about bending over when you cough?"

John brought his arm up over his eyes, "Ronon, shut the hell up. And yes, that's an order too." He peeked out from under he arm. "He doesn't know what he's talking about," he tried to tell Carson.

"I was drunk, not brain damaged. I remember you saying that," Carson told him with a raised eyebrow waiting to see if John would give up or try to wiggle out of his hole.

"_I'm_ brian damaged so you can't beat me up for saying it until later?" he tried.

"I'll give you 'brain damaged, '" Carson mocked as he checked John's I.V.

"How are Rodney and Teyla?" John switched the subject.

"Teyla's fine. As always. Rodney's fine, despite his protestations. He has few bumps and bruises and his blood sugar was a little low when he came in. But nothing a glass of apple juice and an aspirin won't be able to take care of. No, it's just you and Mr. Dex here interrupting my sleep." Carson ran his hand up and down John's arm gently. Before John could say anything, Carson said, "Here comes Jessie with your meds. You'll be back to sleep soon. Unfortunately, just because you passed this neuro-check, doesn't mean you're completely out of the woods. Someone'll be by to wake you every so often." He smiled kindly at John. "Try not to take their head off when they do."

Jessie loaded the two meds into his I.V. and John found that he was drifting too fast to come up with a witty reply before he was completely out.

Ronon was released the next morning before John even woke up. He'd suffered most of the neuro checks with good grace – only once snapping at a nurse because she asked him to repeat a muffled answer – and he even felt up to eating something when they brought him a tray. It was a little tricky as the bruising on his chest and shoulders made it difficult for him to get his hand to his mouth, but once he realized that he could manage the finger food, and gave up on the oatmeal, he did all right.

Carson stopped by to see him shortly after breakfast, but wasn't actually on duty until that evening, so he only stayed a few minutes, checking John's chart and chatting briefly.

John had figured he'd be ready to get out of the infirmary by lunchtime after that, but to his surprise, the nurses informed him that he'd slept through lunch. And that Carson wasn't really that happy yet with some of his test results and wanted him to stay at least through that night.

Around three John was awake long enough to ask for something to eat since he'd missed lunch. Half way through his chicken soup and turkey sandwich, Carson came on duty. About half an hour after that a group of Athosians were brought in. A pack of about nine teenagers had gone off to hunt and had followed their game right into a glade of innocent looking flowers… that ended up giving them a nasty case of contact dermatitis. Fortunately when Holling had contacted Atlantis for help, he had the presence of mind to have the children bring one of the blossoms with them. Carson had been able to synthesize a cream that worked on the rash and they all responded well to the oral antihistamine he pumped them full of.

None of them had wanted to stay in the infirmary, but Carson was loath to let them go all the way back to the mainland in case one of them had an anaphylactic reaction later in the night. So they compromised and set up a bunkroom for them.

John had been feeling slightly more alert in the afternoon than he had that morning, so he propped himself up and watched silently as Carson moved from case to case, sweet-talking those who were afraid and terrorizing the ones who thought they were too tough to need treatment. He didn't realize how much he liked watching Carson when he was in his element. As long as those bullying tactics weren't directed at him.

When the Athosians had been thoroughly scrubbed, medicated and lotioned, Carson got them stowed away in their room, teaching them how to use the wall comm if they needed anything and arranging for some food to be brought to them.

It was fairly late when he made it back to the main ward and he was surprised to see John sitting up, poking at the Palm Pilot Rodney had dropped off earlier when John had still been asleep. "I figured you'd be sound asleep by now," Carson said, hitching one hip against John's bed.

John shrugged and put the stylus in the slot and set the game on the bedside table. "I think I did enough of that this morning."

Carson grabbed John's wrist and held it for a few seconds, checking his pulse. "How are you feeling, besides not tired?"

John shrugged. "All right. I'm sure the nurse told you I was having problems with double vision when I got up to go to the bathroom this afternoon ended up having to use a wheelchair just to go across the damn room."

"Aye, she did. I didn't expect you to be so forthcoming with it though." Carson took his penlight out and moved to stand by John's head. "And I don't suppose that a knee the size of a watermelon had anything to do with it at all?

John shrugged at that last and submitted to the annoying light but finally felt compelled to ask, "What exactly would you see in my eyes that would be causing double vision?"

Apparently satisfied with whatever he did see, Carson sat back down on the edge of the bed. "No, it's not like that. I'm just checking to see how your pupils react to light. How fast they contract and expand. Sluggish pupils are a symptom of nerological trauma, just like the double vision. The more symptoms you have, the more we have to worry about brain damage."

John frowned. "How many do I have?"

Carson smiled at him, "Not enough to have anyone worried. This time."

John felt himself grow warm at that smile. He felt like he was thirteen with his first crush all over again when Carson smiled at him like that. "They teach you how to avoid answering questions directly in medical school?"

Carson nodded. "Pre-med. You can't get into medical school unless you can manage to not tell someone that the sky is blue when it's bloody well obvious that it is."

John just laughed a little at the continually evasive answers.

"So what do they tell you to say in pilot-school if you're going to crash?" Carson asked.

"Your last words," John said glibly. "You have to remember, I wasn't doing commercial airline work – I was flying helicopters in combat zones. There's not much to say if you're going down. Especially if you think you have a chance of I not /I being spotted by enemy radar. You _don't_ want _them_ finding you."

Carson made a face. "Alright, that was a bit more morbid than I expected."

John just shrugged. It wasn't morbid to him – it was survival. He lay back against his pillows casting about for something to talk about. He didn't want Carson to go yet. It was selfish – Carson had a whole dormer full of itchy Athosians he needed to keep up on, and John was reasonably sure that his shift would be ending soon - but he wanted to keep Carson there, talking with him for a while.

John couldn't help but smile when Carson picked up the small talk, clearly in no bigger hurry to move on than John was to have him do so. "So what's the Air Force Academy like?"

John smiled, "Regulated within an inch of your life."

Carson laughed. If he'd met the man on the street he never would have guessed that John Sheppard could cut it in the 'yes sir no sir' world of the military. It had always been a conundrum to him. "Well, if you don't mind me saying so, it does beg the question of how you made it through. You've never seemed the brushcut and polished boots sort." Carson raised his eyebrows at the unruly mop on top of John's head, made even worse by the fact that he hadn't been bothered enough to attempt to comb it into submission since he'd been admitted.

"I made it through by the skin of my teeth. No, actually that's not entirely true. I don't have a problem with rules and regs and drills as long as they make sense. I mean, in BCT they tell you that you have to chew your food exactly seven times." At Carson's incredulous look, John added. "I'm not making that up or exaggerating. Seven times, every time. Jell-o was a pain in the ass."

Carson laughed. "I'm not sure I'd survive that level of pickiness."

"You do what you have to if you want something bad enough. Besides, I only got in trouble when I got pushy about asking why we had to do something. A lot of our cadre weren't big on explaining themselves to us – especially when you're in basic training. They really want you to wrap your brain around the idea of follow orders first, think about whether or not they make sense later. I didn't do so well with that part," he confessed

"I'd imagine not," Carson agreed with a fond smile. "Did a few round of dishes, did you?"

"We didn't get k.p. like you see in army movies – and I have no idea if the army actually does that or not. Mostly we got demerits or penalty tours – an hour of marching around the campus - but we had a few inventive second and first class cadets. I mean, there was this one guy – Troyer – who liked to go for public humiliation. One of the things you have to do as a fourth class – a freshman – is wake up the upperclassmen and make sure they know how long they have before morning dorm inspection. You literally stand in the hall and as a group count down the twenty minutes. If you pissed Troyer off, you had to do it as a chicken. For a week."

"That doesn't seem like a very good way to teach people to work as a team." Carson seemed quite offended by the idea.

"Actually, when I look back on it, it was kind of interesting. That kind of crap never bothered me – it was all about seeing how much crap you could take – so when I didn't get bothered by it, it wasn't fun for him any more so he quit doing it to me. Even in basic, extra running or extra calisthenics never bothered me if they were issued for a good reason. What tended to get me in trouble was that I never did well standing by when someone took a penalty for some dumbass reason. Like, we weren't allowed to talk at meals except with special permission. Okay, fine. One morning a guy sneezed, another one said 'bless you' and our cadre leader went ballistic on him. So, of course, I went ballistic on the cadre leader. Which is pretty dumb, granted. There would have been other ways to deal with it, but I wasn't thinking. Tiffle and I both got three penalty tours. But in a way it was worth it just to point out how dumb the situation was."

"I guess our equivalent would have been called 'scut work'. Emptying the drains on surgery patients, putting in foleys on cranky people – especially the ones who desperately needed to bathe – or having to do enemas on impaction patients. I mean, at least they were things that really had to be done – unlike what they put you through – but when we got more than our share we knew we were being punished for something."

John had wrinkled up his nose and turned down his lower lip. "Yeah, I'll take the marching any day. That stuff… that's just nasty!"

Carson laughed with him. "I've heard people compare medical school to military training. Awake all hours, having emergencies sprung on you at any hour, bad food."

John smiled and snuggled back into his pillow. He was getting tired again, but it had been a long time since they'd been able to just sit and talk for a while. And for as well as he felt he knew Carson, he was really just starting to see that there was so much he had to learn about him.

He pulled his blankets up and made himself comfortable and asked, "What's the weirdest case you've ever seen?"

Carson rolled his eyes. "I suppose you mean besides someone coming in with the bite mark of an insect the size of a small dog on their neck?"

"Hey, hey, hey now! Don't talk about those bugs. You'll have to sit there all night and make sure I don't have nightmares if you do."

Carson took John's hand and threaded his fingers through John's. "Alright, I promise, no more talk about the bugs." He didn't let go of John's hand, and John didn't try to take it back.

"Weirdest case, then… Well, I'm sure everyone's heard stories about the things people think it's a good idea to shove up their bums."

"I thought that was an urban legend or something."

"No, unfortunately some people are really that stupid. It's just annoying when they come to casualty because they've lost a food item. Most of those they really can eliminate on their own. But I've seen things like parts of plastic dolls, candles, a screwdriver. But worse were the cases of men who thought it was a good idea to shove something in their urethra."

John made a mortified face.

Carson just nodded. "One fool had an infatuation with uncooked spaghetti. I'm sure you can see where this is going…"

John held up a hand, "Okay, okay, enough. Ew. People really can be stupid… that's just … ew."

"Aye," Carson agreed, still holding his hand, and now gently caressing the back of it with his thumb. It occurred to John that it was sort of an odd counterpoint to their discussion.

"Your turn," Carson pointed out.

"This is like some weird game of truth or dare… without the dare option," John muttered. "What were you going to ask me?"

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever seen on duty?"

"Well if we're taking all forms of life-sucking aliens off the table, I'd have to say… an entire M1 Abrams tank filled up with blown up condoms."

Carson raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. Certainly John had to know that that demanded an explanation.

"It was the tank division commander's birthday. So they guys got him a present… and buried it under the blown up condoms. Now I was there picking up a guy for medevac, and I'm watching this while they prep the guy for transport and as their C.O. starts tossing out the condoms I hear him yell out, 'Which one of you is the fucking moron who ordered _lubricated_ condoms for this prank?' Apparently they ended up greasing up the entire inside of the tank. That was pretty weird."

"Aye, I can imagine."

"It got around pretty fast and we ended up calling them the Slippery Secondy Second pretty quickly."

John caught movement out of the corner of his eye and managed to pull his hand free of Carson's just as Elaina, one of the on-call nurses, approached his bed. "I'm sorry Doctor Beckett, I know you were technically off duty half an hour ago, but one of the Athosian girls is having difficulty breathing. She asked if you were still up."

Carson nodded and patted John on the shoulder. "Fair enough. This one needs to get his sleep. I want him to try a pair of crutches tomorrow so we can see if he has balance well enough to get around while that self-inflicted knee wound heels." He gave John a cheeky grin.

Carson had to smile as he walked away and heard John mutter, "Teyla has a really, really big mouth."

Carson had almost reached the door when John yelled out, "Hey Carson!" Carson waved Elaina out into the hall and turned back to John.

Now that they were the only ones in the infirmary, John felt comfortable saying, "Once you spring me from here, we can get to the 'dare' part of the game." He raised his eyebrows comically several times.

Carson laughed. "Get some sleep. I think some of that brain damage is starting to show."

John just smiled and grabbed his extra pillow out from behind him and hugged it to his chest. He fell asleep to the odd thought that head trauma, drugs and good company would combine to give him one of the best nights' sleep he'd had in a long, long time.


	7. Got Your Back

John made his report to Elizabeth while Rodney went through his physical. He tried to keep the four letter words to a minimum, but wasn't as successful as he hoped judging by the look on Elizabeth's face. He also realized he hadn't been as contained as he was hoping to be when he noticed the looks he got from the techs as he left Elizabeth's office and made his way through the control room.

He knew he was supposed to report to the infirmary for a post mission check up, but he wasn't sure if Rodney was done yet and he really, really didn't want to risk running into the other man.

So he just started walking, hoping to burn off his frustration. He walked from the north pier to the east pier, back to the central tower and then out to the west pier where the _Daedalus_ was docked. He paced from one end of the ship to the other a few times before realizing that it really was too chilly to be out in just his t-shirt and jacket. It surprised him how often he forgot how cool ocean breezes were at night.

So he headed back in, his thoughts still turning over and over. Seeing the Arcturus project explode and the shock wave swallow five planets as they barely escaped, only the help of the _Daedalus_ keeping them from being caught up in the wave looping over and over in his mind. He cursed Rodney sixteen ways from Sunday – for being so arrogant, for thinking he was smarter than the Ancients, for not being smart enough, for not quitting when things started going bad, for talking him into going on this fool's errand, for having always pulled their asses out of the fire before making it impossible for John to say no when he literally begged for his trust.

It was late now. A few of the airmen he'd passed in the hall had been gossiping about the berating Rodney took from Dr. Weir. Most days John would have had something to say about idle gossiping, but he just couldn't rouse himself to care that night.

He wasn't surprised when he found himself making his way to Carson's quarters. He knew he wasn't good company, but he didn't want to be in his own room. The last time he'd gone there, Rodney had sought him out and begged him for his trust. He didn't want to be there so Rodney could come and beg him for his forgiveness. He wasn't ready to give it yet. He wasn't sure if he ever would be.

He palmed the doorchime and was surprised at how fast Carson answered the door. Almost as if he was waiting for him.

"I figured that since you didn't make it down to the infirmary, if I just waited long enough you'd show up here." He stopped, looking bashful for a minute, "Or at least I hoped you would." He stepped aside to let John in.

"Feel free to kick me out if you want. I'm sure I'm not very good company. I tried to walk it out, but I'm not sure it worked."

"I was I hoping /I you'd be comfortable enough to come down here, to talk if nothing else. I'm hardly going to put you out." Carson indicated the small sofa across the room.

John flopped down on the sofa and leaned forward to bury his face in his hands. He didn't look up when he felt Carson sit next to him. He tried not to start when he felt Carson's hand between his shoulder blades. He scrubbed at his face while Carson silently rubbed his back. "I should just be glad we both made it back alive, right?"

Carson slid his hand up to John's hair and gently ran his fingers through the lank strands. "I wish I could say it's come as a surprise that Rodney's ego has come around and bit him in the arse so soundly, but it's not. I just wish it hadn't had to happen in such a bloody spectacular fashion."

John sighed and leaned his head on Carson's shoulder. "I don't think it could have happened any other way with Rodney. Seriously, anything on a smaller scale than a solar system is… beneath him." He wondered if that was a compliment or an insult or simply fact, but was too tired to really put much thought into it.

He looked up through his fingers when he felt Carson stand.

"Come on," Carson said holding out his hand.

"What?"

"Come on," Carson repeated.

"Where?" John felt like was being obstinate, like the right thing to do was simply to trust Carson to do what was best for him and follow along, but he'd just had his trust more profoundly shaken than he'd realized and he just couldn't.

"You need a shower and then some sleep. Neither of which is a bad idea for me either, so I thought we'd manage both together."

John stood and followed Carson to the bathroom. As the stained-glass door slid shut behind them, John caught Carson's eye in the mirror. "You're sure you want me to stay tonight?"

Carson reached over and started the shower. He knew the Ancients had solved the age-old Earth problem of needing to let the shower warm up, but old habits died hard, and he still started the water before he undressed. While steam billowed around them he pulled John into his arms and twined one hand in his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. "That a good enough answer for you?"

For reasons he didn't understand at all, John felt himself blush. It wasn't just warmth from the steam, he could feel it in the tips of his toes. It had been a long time since anyone had shown the kind of consistent patience with him that Carson did. He'd written it off as part of Carson's job when he sat with him while he bitched and moaned through whatever injury or illness he'd managed to incur, but this was different. This was taking him when he wasn't at his best just because he cared, because he wanted to.

John kissed him back, trying to morph all of his anxiety and anger and fear from the day's earlier escapades into love and warmth for the one person he realized that, even today, he could count on unconditionally.

Carson pulled back after a minute and perfunctorily stripped down and stepped into the shower stall.

John took a second to take a few deep breaths and clear his mind of everything that had come before. He centered himself on the here and now – on being alive, on being with Carson. And on the fact that maybe this disastrous day had a chance of ending on a very good note indeed. He pulled off his clothes, not bothering to fold them or even hang them on the peg by the door, and stepped into the shower.

It occurred to him that it was about damn time that they'd seen each other naked, but at the same time he wished he were in a better frame of mind to appreciate it.

Carson carefully pushed John in front of him, letting John wet his hair as he grabbed the soap and began washing his back, stopping to knead and massage whenever he encountered a knot in the stiff muscles. It took more than half an hour for John to take a deep breath and let go of the tension that had ruled him when he'd come in. Once he had, Carson turned him around and wrapped his arms around him. John rested his head on Carson's shoulder. "Feeling a little better?" Carson asked quietly.

John nodded, now starting to feel pleasantly drowsy with the warm water cascading over him and the tension starting to leave. "A little," he conceded.

Carson put one hand under John's chin and brought his head back up. He kissed him softly for a few minutes while his hands slid down John's back to lightly skim his bottom. "Turn back around."

Knowing he'd be terminally disappointed if this wasn't going where it seemed to be, John turned back into the spray without saying anything, relaxing when Carson pulled him back against his chest. He was too tall to lean his head backwards onto Carson's shoulder, but he let it drop back as Carson reached around him and took hold of his cock, pulling and stroking, massaging and teasing.

"Oh god," John gasped, hoping Carson wouldn't ask how long it had been since someone else had touched him. It had been an embarrassingly long time and despite, or maybe because of, all of the day's insanity, he found himself responding with an almost equally embarrassing enthusiasm.

Carson kissed the side of his neck as he released John and John began to panic. Carson had never struck him as the sort to tease so mercilessly, but before he could find the words to accuse him, that hand was back, this time slick with soap and John let out the breath he'd been holding in a long sigh.

Carson pumped him and teased the head a little, and before long John could feel himself pushing into the strokes, one hand braced on the shower wall to help him keep his balance.

As his breathing started to speed up, Carson stopped. John turned his head, eyes wide, hoping this was another temporary delay.

"Turn around," Carson told him again. John complied as quickly as he could on the slick floor.

Carson dropped one hand around his waist and pulled John in close, wrapping his other hand around both of their hard cocks and resumed the pumping.

Now able to drop his head on Carson's shoulder, John did so as he put both arms around Carson, one in his hair, the other on his ass, pulling him close as Carson brought them both off.

As his world coalesced into a white light behind his eyelids he could feel Carson moving his hand even faster and he was dimly aware of the way Carson's breath caught and his back stiffened signaling his own release.

They both staggered a little with the release of tension and John had to put one arm out to steady them both against the wall as the shower continued to pound over them. Once they were both balanced again, John wrapped his arms around Carson and hugged him tightly. "Oh my god…" He wasn't sure what else to say. It wasn't the best sex he'd ever had, it wasn't romantic and it wasn't creative, but it had been so badly _needed_ that he felt overwhelmed by it.

Carson gently tipped John's head up and kissed him softly again. "Feel better, do you?"

John couldn't even answer that. He just laughed and hugged the other man even tighter.

When he could move again, Carson handed John the soap. "Guess we need to get cleaned up again and then get out before we turn into a couple of prunes."

They quickly cleaned each other off and washed their own hair before stepping out and drying off. As John was running the towel over his hair, trying to get as much water out of it as he could, Carson came up behind him and put his arms around John's waist. "You didn't answer my question before. Do you feel better?"

John turned in his arms and met his eyes, realizing that Carson wasn't fishing for a compliment or just asking because it was the kind of thing you did after a long day like he'd had. He thought for a second before finally saying, "Mostly, yeah."

Carson nodded and took the towel from him, but the look on his face said the conversation wasn't over. He led John to the bed, hitting the lights as they went and then Carson pulled John down so that he was spooned against John's back, one arm wrapped around him. "Only mostly?" he asked as they settled.

John was glad he didn't have to look at Carson while they had this conversation, and couldn't help but notice that Carson had carefully engineered it that way. He wondered when Carson had gotten to know him _that_ well. He wondered if he'd have been so perceptive if their roles had been reversed. "Well, you know," he started with a shrug. "I'm not complaining. I'm _so_ not complaining, but I didn't figure that our first time together would be because I'm stressed out over Rodney being stupid. I'd … kind of hoped for something slightly more romantic."

Carson shrugged against him. "We'll have time for that later." He pressed a kiss into John's shoulder before tugging on it to get John to turn and face him. "But while you've brought up Rodney…"

Reluctantly John turned onto his back and faced Carson. "Do we have to do this now?"

"I'm not going to tell you to forget about what happened. I'm not even going to tell you that you should forgive him straight off. But you're going to run into him tomorrow or the day after or the day after that and when you do, he's going to want to apologize. He wanted to come find you when he was done in the infirmary tonight, but I told him not to – to give you some space."

John's eyes dropped, "Thanks, I guess. I really couldn't deal with him tonight."

Carson nodded and pushed a few stray strands of hair off John's forehead. "I know. But I do think Rodney understands what he did and he does want to apologize. And honestly, this is behavior we want to encourage in him, so when he does, just hear him out. You and I both know – hell, _he_ knows – that it's going to take some time for the two of you to find your footing with each other again, but when he apologizes, just listen. It'll make things a lot less awkward for you when you have to go out in the field together again."

John nodded. He didn't want to admit it, but what Carson was saying made sense. And if left to his own devices he would tell Rodney where to shove his apology and while that might feel good in the short term, in the long run it really would make things worse. "I'll listen," he promised, "but you're right, I can't forgive him yet."

"I know, but I also know that some day you will, so just make things as easy as you can for the both of you for a while."

John nodded. "I'll try. But honestly, I don't want to talk about this right now."

"You ready to get some sleep?" Carson settled the blankets around them even as he asked.

John waited until Carson settled back down and rested his head on Carson's shoulder. He debated back and forth with himself frantically for a few seconds before finally saying quietly, "Don't think I don't know how lucky I am to have someone talk with about stuff like this. And I appreciate that you aren't just blindly siding with me, because you're right: if I see Rodney tomorrow my instinct is to tell him where to shove it. And I guess there's a small part of me that worries that he's sitting alone in his quarters stewing alone and I kind of feel bad for him. A little. The rest of me says he deserves it. Anyway, I guess what I'm getting at is that I appreciate you being here for me. I hadn't thought about it much – maybe I actively avoided thinking about it – but when I found myself here and couldn't imagine not coming here after a day like today, I think I had to own up to the idea that I love you."

John wondered when it had come to pass that he needed a thousand words to work up to three.

Carson kissed the top of his head, "I love you too. I think I didn't say anything for fear of scaring you off."

"If I didn't scare _you_ off yet, I don't think you have anything to worry about."

Carson smiled. "Well, as long as we're in agreement then, I suppose we might want to get some sleep." He gently stroked John's arm a few times as John settled in.

John was only slightly amazed at how well he slept that night.


	8. Do We Need a Rabbit?

**Title**: Human Body VII: Do We Need a Rabbit?  
**Author**: Waldo.  
**Words**: 4057  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Pairing**: Sheppard/Beckett, established relationship  
**Summary**: "Once is a mistake, twice is a pattern." Carson knows.  
**A/N**: Written for Catherfina and Sithdragn who wanted to see Carson hurt, and 'glad I didn't lose you sex'. Though this is probably not what they meant. If you don't get the title, see the note at the bottom.T

**The Human Body VII: Do We Need a Rabbit?**

by: Waldo.

Sheppard and his team sat two apiece on facing biobeds. Carson was a little surly as he went through the standard post-mission exam, clearing and dismissing Ronon and Teyla quickly. To appease Rodney, he had a nurse give him a nebulizer treatment when he kept insisting that he'd inhaled at least eight pounds of dust during the earthquakes.

As the nurse escorted Rodney off, Carson stood in front of John, "Roll up your sleeve, please, Colonel."

John made a face. There hadn't been any reason to think they were exposed to anything and none of his other teammates had been required to pony up a blood sample before being released. He made a face, but pulled his jacket off and offered Carson his left elbow. "What's this about?"

Carson didn't even try to disguise his sigh as he held up the needle where he was sure John would see it. "Testing for any intergalactic STDs you may have picked up from your lovely new girlfriend."

John was damn near certain that Carson jabbed him in one side of his arm and straight out the other. He bit his lip and refused to give Carson the satisfaction of hearing him scream or swear. He almost slipped when Carson shoved a piece of gauze over the hole and pushed John's hand up to his shoulder roughly. "Hold this here a minute, if you please."

John pulled his feet up onto the bed and leaned back against the wall as Carson disappeared into his lab with the vial of blood. He supposed Carson had a right to be pissed. But he'd be damned if they were having this conversation in the infirmary while adrenaline still sang through their systems making them tired and touchy. Which, in Carson's case, presented as being overly polite and formal. John knew that they needed to talk, and that he'd probably have to goad Carson into giving him the hell he deserved so they could move past it. Because he refused to believe they'd never get past it.

John was amazed that Carson showed up at his door later that night. He'd planned on giving them the night to cool off and get some rest before trying to talk through what an idiot he'd been. But Carson was there and his arms were folded across his chest, his fingers clutching and releasing the sleeves of the lab coat he still wore. There was clearly no putting it off.

John waved him in but remained standing, letting Carson say whatever he needed to, prepared for whatever repercussions a moment of letting his hormones get the better of him would earn him.

Carson stood just far enough inside to let the door close behind him, but once in the room, faced with John, he wasn't sure what he intended to say.

Taking pity on him, John gave him an opening gambit, hoping a little _mea culpa_ and a little humility might spare him a lot of grief. "I'm sorry?"

"For what, exactly?" Carson countered, his accent incredibly thick as it had a tendency to be when he was stressed.

John stomped on the first thing that came to mind – _letting myself get molested by a hot blonde and enjoying it._ Snarky wasn't going to trump pissed and he really didn't want to mess up a good thing. And he and Carson had had a good thing. He hoped that just possibly, they still did.

So he went for contrite with a little bit of groveling. "For possibly letting ten minutes of stupidity ruin a really good thing." John cheered inwardly when he saw some of the lines leave Carson's face, but he was careful not to let it show. "I'm sorry. I know that's not going to undo it, but I am."

Carson let one hand drop into the pocket of his lab coat. "Would you have told me if I hadn't figured it out?"

John dropped on to the bed, waving in the general direction of the foot of the bed and the nearby chair, letting Carson decide how close he felt like being. He didn't have an answer to Carson's question. Things had moved so fast down there that he hadn't really had time to decide what, if anything, Carson needed to know about his indiscretion. Their relationship had moved so slowly that there had never been any discussion of what they were to each other or if they were officially… anything. But they'd been sleeping together in every sense of the word for several months, so it wasn't surprising that Carson had blown a gasket when he'd read between the lines of the interchange between him and Mara when she'd brought his radio to the cell. Rodney making more Captain Kirk references on their way back to the stargate certainly hadn't helped things at all.

John tucked his stocking feet under the edge of the blanket that was scrunched at the bottom of the bed from where he'd left it unmade the morning before he'd left. "I'd like to say that I'm man enough to say that I would have, but honestly… I hadn't thought that far ahead."

Carson nodded and dropped into the chair at the end of the bed. John didn't miss the wince as Carson leaned back against the hard back of the chair. He seemed to be thinking through what John had said. After several long minutes he wiped his face with his right hand, his left still resting in the crook of his right elbow, holding on to the fabric of the lab coat. "Am I out of line? We never said…" he finally asked quietly.

John canted his head and considered the question. He was sure Carson was thinking the same thing he had been earlier. There had been no promises, no commitments; just unspoken understandings. "Did we make promises to each other? No. Was there an understanding between us? I thought there was. I hope there was. And do I understand that if we're operating under those assumptions that what I did was massively stupid? Yeah, I do." A random thought ran through his head and he had to look up at the ceiling and bite his lip to keep from smiling. He wasn't sure if Carson would understand what the smile was about. His face fell as he realized that he may no longer have a reason to smile.

"What was that?" Carson asked as John's face contorted.

"Just a… kind of a stupid thought… I'm a little… flattered, a little glad, that you're jealous."

Carson's carefully neutral face finally fell and he cracked a slight smile. "Smug bastard."

"You're not pissed?" John asked hopefully.

"Oh, aye, I'm pissed, but I suppose I'll let you make it up to me."

John let his head thunk back against the wall behind him as he thanked whatever lucky stars were smiling down on stupid bastards like him. "I will," he promised, still looking at the ceiling. When he looked down again, Carson was shifting against the back of the chair, like leaning back was uncomfortable, but he was too tired to remain sitting upright. "What's wrong with your back?"

"It's nothing," Carson said, shifting again.

John noticed that the entire time he'd been there, Carson's left hand had been in the same place – resting in the bend of his right elbow. "One of your team give you a going over?" John asked, trying not to nag, but knowing that if anyone could, Carson would be able to duck out of a medical exam and get away with it.

"Of course," Carson said quickly, not adding anything.

"Carson…" John warned.

Carson sighed. "It's my shoulder. That bastard constable wrenched it when he pulled that knife on me. I did have someone look at it. It's just going to be sore for a few days, but nothing's seriously damaged."

John nodded and patted the bed in front of him. "C'mere." He put on his best puppy-dog face and hoped Carson would comply. When Carson didn't move after a moment, John wiped the pout off his face and appealed to him again through logic. "What do you need to do for it?" he asked indicating the sore shoulder. He knew the answer, but he wanted to see if Carson would actually give him the opening he wanted or if he'd have to work for it.

"It's not so bad as all that, honestly. Some pain relievers, heat, that sort of thing. It's okay," Carson reassured.

"Massage?" John asked hopefully.

Carson smiled at John's desire to start making it up to him so soon. He stood up and carefully lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. "I suppose. If you're careful. I really am quite sore." He knew he was contradicting what he'd said just a moment before about it being not so bad, but he figured he might as well work the situation while he could. And, well, it did hurt. If John was going to put his hands on it, he'd find out rather quickly that Carson had lied just by squeezing a little.

John nodded. "I promise to be gentle. Take your shoes off and sit up here with me."

Once Carson had complied, John carefully pulled off the lab coat and tossed it onto the end of the bed. He slid up behind Carson, his legs spread and Carson seated between them. He gently rubbed the flat of his hand over Carson's sore shoulder, just letting his skin and the slight friction warm Carson's skin and muscles through the dark gray t-shirt, letting him feel where the muscles were bunched and hard from the rough handling earlier that day.

He rested his forehead against the back of Carson's neck. "I'm glad you weren't seriously hurt today," he whispered against his skin.

"When I realized that the knife that Ortho fellow pulled on you was poisoned, and that even a minor wound would have killed you as easily as it killed him - and long before I could have done anything about it…" Carson trailed off and hung his head. "I'm very glad you weren't hurt either."

John began applying gentle pressure to the sore muscles with the heel of his hand. He hoped that the issue of him and Mara was put behind them, but he needed to be sure. "_I_ didn't mean to hurt you either."

"I know," Carson responded after a moment. A long enough moment that John knew that Carson actually meant it and wasn't just saying it to appease John's conscience. John did note; however, that Carson didn't say 'you didn't.' And that spoke more loudly than anything.

He pulled Carson back against him, one hand still working gently on his sore shoulder, the other wrapping around Carson's waist, "I wish I could make it not have happened. I mean, it wasn't like I made a decision to… She was there and then she was naked and pushing me back on the bed… I'm not saying she assaulted me, or that I couldn't have stopped her if I'd … tried. It wasn't like that. But it happened so fast that it was over before I had a chance to really understand what was happening."

"You didn't understand what it meant when a naked girl climbed all over you?" Carson asked incredulously.

"Well, no, I understood what she… I'm just saying it's not like this was… premeditated." He wondered if he was making things better or worse.

"I know," Carson said again. "I would have kicked your arse if you had tried, even in the slightest, to lie to me about any of this. But I don't think you've ever deliberately set out to hurt someone in your life." He rolled his eyes as the thought occurred to him, "Including that girl… and I suppose it's a little difficult to tell a woman that you aren't interested when she's standing there naked as the day she was born without making it sound like she's undesirable." Carson shifted to the side so he could look John in the eye when he said soberly, "But I'll tell you this: once is an accident; twice is a pattern. I can forgive an accident."

John nodded, knowing that they had finally breached the bubble he'd been trying to pop all night. He knew Carson wasn't going to let him off without at least something of a lecture or a warning. "Understood." John kissed his neck softly and went back to massaging his shoulder.

There were a few quiet moments before Carson asked quietly, amusement in his voice, "Only ten minutes of stupidity, eh?"

John blushed a little and he felt a low chuckle in his belly that didn't quite make a sound when it escaped. "On the outside. She was… quite the whirlwind. She was much more interested in my genes than my… technique. It was kind of an end-product oriented process."

"Her loss," Carson commented. "Should I be going back in a few weeks with a rabbit?" Carson asked, hoping John would get the outdated reference.

"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind. It's… possible. I mean I… when she… and unless you know something about there being something wrong with my reproductive abilities that I don't…" John buried his face in Carson's shoulder. He would have preferred that this part of the conversation waited. Or never come up at all. Mara had wanted his DNA. The fact that she found him an interesting person was just a bonus. And now, with the royal bloodline being useless, he wasn't sure she'd want any kind of child at all. That didn't mean there wouldn't be one.

Carson turned and took John's arm, leading them both to lie side by side. After they sorted their legs out and made sure Carson wasn't lying on his sore shoulder, Carson said seriously, "We'll need to go back soon to make sure they've settled themselves out now that their Lord Protector is dead and gone and that they've got to rearrange their whole government. I can go with your team to set up the villagers with the medicines you promised and while we're there I can run a few discrete tests. You'll sleep better when you're sure you aren't going to be getting any surprises in nine months."

John pulled him in for a kiss. "Thank you. I know you'd very much like to pretend that none of this ever happened."

Carson stroked his cheek. "Aye, I would. But if I've learned anything from my time in the Pegasus Galaxy it's that nothing goes away just by wishing it so. Just promise me that the next time some beautiful, young lass requires your genes to keep her lineage in tact, you'll let me do it with a test tube and a glorified turkey baster."

"A turkey baster?" John shuddered. "That's disgusting!"

"Where did you think test tube babies came from?" Carson asked as he rolled John over and leaned across his chest, his weight on his good arm.

"Uh… test tubes?" John tried.

"That's where they start. Not where they end. They still require a mother to incubate them."

John made a face, "There really are downsides to being involved with a geneticist," he told Carson before kissing him and wrapping both arms around him and rolling so that they switched positions. "They know far too much about bizarre reproductive habits."

Deliberately twisting John's words Carson grinned up at him. "Oh, usually you're the one hoping we can try some of the more 'bizarre reproductive' things you've read about."

"We're not trying to reproduce. We're just trying to have a little fun," John countered.

Carson grinned and raised an eyebrow. "And usually we're quite successful at that."

"Only usually?" John asked as he began to kiss a line from behind Carson's ear down his neck.

Conversation became greatly overrated at that point as John proceeded to push Carson's gray uniform shirt up as high as he could get it and continued kissing his way down. When Carson's pants got in the way, John gave up. "This isn't working," he complained, letting his forehead rest on Carson's belly. "You're in far too many clothes."

Carson pulled his head and shoulders up - demonstrating what John had known for a while, Carson had stronger abs than most of the marines on base - and pulled his shirt over his head. With a wicked grin he looked down and said, "You're in a better position to do something about the rest of it than I am."

John smiled and knelt next to Carson, attacking the button and zipper with a vengeance. Once he'd gotten Carson's pants open, John lay back down, wrapping his arms around Carson's legs and blowing a stream of hot air through the cotton of Carson's shorts. Carson moaned and arched and John smiled as an idea hit him.

He slid his hands under Carson, his fingers gently squeezing Carson's ass through his pants while he slid his tongue through the fly of Carson's boxers. One of Carson's hands flew down to grasp John's hair, neither pushing him down nor pulling him away, just holding on.

"How long has it been since you've come in your pants like a teenager?" John asked with an evil lilt in his voice. He liked the idea of Carson having to get up in the morning and go commando when he went back to his quarters to change, because his underwear were to sticky to put back on.

"Since that time we stumbled in here after making each other completely mad at that Athosian celebration and neither one of us managed to get out of our clothes fast enough. What was that? Three weeks ago?"

John smiled, remembering that night. During the planting ceremony the Athosians had put great emphasis on the land as mother where the seeds entered her womb and the traditional prayers and gestures were fraught with sexual metaphors. He and Carson had sent each other little glances and had found excuses to accidentally brush against each other all night long. When they'd finally made it back to the sanctity of John's quarters they'd simply leaned against the locked door and dry humped for about thirty seconds before it had all been over. For the first time that night.

But if Carson could still string together enough words to talk about that night, John figured he wasn't working hard enough. He wiggled Carson's pants down far enough that he could slide one hand up the loose leg of Carson's boxers and gently trace light lines over Carson's scrotom, while his tongue continued to explore all he could through the slit in the fabric. He could feel Carson go from soft and lax to stiff and hot as he worked. The repeatedly muttered "Good god" and "Oh yes" told him that something about not just stripping down and going to it was working for Carson too.

John pulled back for a second, rearranging them both so that Carson's legs were still trapped by his pants, but then further immobilizing him by laying over his legs and wrapping his arms around his hips to keep him still. Once he had him where he wanted him, John began gently teething Carson's erection right through the cotton, his hands up the back of Carson's boxers again massing his ass as he blew him through his shorts.

Carson panted and wiggled as much as he could, biting his lip to keep him from demanding that John rip the damn clothes out of the way and suck him properly. He'd learned long ago that if he asked for something he'd get it, no questions asked. But more recently he'd learned that if he was patient and let John be inventive, that John was very, very creative.

So he limited his words to general expressions of approval and vague pleas for 'more', but he let John decide how to give it to him.

His balls were beginning to draw up even as John tugged them down first with his fingers and then with his mouth once he'd shoved the leg of Carson's shorts up high enough to give him access. And then John put his mouth over the tip of Carson's cock through the fabric and sucked hard. The increased friction of the wet fabric over his sensitive skin was too much and Carson came hard, gasping and clutching at John's hair.

When he could breathe again, when he had the strength to open his eyes, Carson tugged on John's arm to get him to move up the bed and lay alongside him. "And what do you want?" he asked, even as his eyes slipped half-closed in both sation and exhaustion.

John took Carson's hand and kissed his fingers before lowering it down to his own ruined clothes. "Little late for that," he laughed. Carson noticed that John's fly was undone and that the end of John's black t-shirt, his own shorts and his pants all had wet spots.

Carson laughed and then kissed him. He felt a slight jerk of interest in his own cock as he thought about John stroking himself while he sucked him off, but he was too tired to really respond to the idea that night. So he filed it away for another time. A time where he'd work up the nerve to ask John to do that for him while he sat up and watched. His head fell back to the pillow with a silent thunk as that idea took hold in his mind. Maybe after they'd both gotten a few hours of sleep.

Carson had always loved how highly tactile John was. John was always touching people, casually, just being friendly. It had never made Carson jealous before, but after the events on the past few days, he wondered if it wouldn't be a problem now. He cut that thought off. He wasn't going to start mistrusting John now. He'd been honest about what he'd done and promised that it wouldn't happen again. And Carson needed to believe he wouldn't. He couldn't imagine not having this as a part of his life now that he'd gotten used to it. Now John was tracing the features of his face with his fingertips. Mapping, memorizing. Carson closed his eyes and just enjoyed the gentle attention. After a few minutes John rolled away, flopping onto his back. "We really might want to think about getting undressed now."

Carson nodded, noting for the first time that he was still tangled up in his pants and that his boxers were completely destroyed. "I suppose we should," he answered but made no hasty move to actually do anything about it.

After another long pause, John finally sat up and pulled off his black t-shirt, his dogtags getting tangled in the process. Carson laughed at how long it took John to sort himself out enough to be able to pull off his pants and socks. It was a testament to how sex-fried his brain was that he couldn't complete such common physical tasks without trouble. He took some pride in the fact that he hadn't actually had to do anything to put John in such a state. He was also beyond grateful that his little blonde princess had apparently been unable to do so even as aggressive as she'd been.

Once he was undressed, John told Carson to raise his hips so that John could pull the rest of his clothes off and toss them on the floor in the heap with his. When he crawled back up, he pulled the blankets over them. It had been a long couple days capped off with some really fantastic sex. He was fading fast. As Carson turned his back to him and snuggled back against his chest, John had an odd thought. "So, I'm guessing that since you didn't come down here armed with condoms, there were no intergalactic STDs?"

Carson chuckled, and tucked John's arm tighter around his chest. "No. I didn't actually expect there to be any. I just wanted to see if you'd deny that there was a reason to run the tests."

John buried his face in Carson's shoulder. "Sneaky bastard."

Carson turned his head enough to kiss him lightly. "Damn right."

About the title: For those who are too young to remember, they used to conduct pregnancy tests using female rabbits. Now, regardless of outcome, the rabbit died in the process of determining the state of a woman's pregnancy, but it was generally thought that the rabbit died if a woman was pregnant. A common - if crude - way to ask a woman if she was pregnant was to ask if the rabbit died.


	9. Delete

**Title: The Human Body IX: Delete  
Rating**: R  
**Pairing**: Sheppard/Beckett  
**Words**: 3562  
**A/N**: This story was a bear to write for no reason I can readily understand. I knew what it was going to look like, but actually sitting down and writing was damn near impossible. Nonetheless, Maisfeeka stepped up and did the beta, for which I am very grateful. I'm not even going to pretend that I'm writing "The Human Body" stories in the order of the episodes. Next will be "Grace Under Pressure" and then after that I should get back to where I am chronologically which is "Instinct"/"Conversion"... that'll be a novel... But anyway, here's this bit.  
**Summary**: After staying up weeks, just to watch his experiment ultimately fail, Carson is in pretty bad shape.

Carson sat staring at the screen. His resignation was typed, all he had to do was send it to Elizabeth. The Daedalus would be back in about a week. Enough time for him to put everything in order. He pushed the laptop to the edge of his desk without hitting send. He wanted to believe that if he got a few hours of sleep that things wouldn't be such a disaster in the morning.

That the experiment would have worked… actually, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted it not to work as well as it did. Michael wouldn't have found out about their deception, Teyla wouldn't have been kidnapped, people wouldn't be hurt or dead.

He wouldn't hate himself.

He crossed his arms over the blank space he'd made on his desk and rested his head on them. In a few minutes he'd drag up the strength to head back to his quarters. There wasn't anything left for him to do here tonight.

He spared one last glance around the office that had become his home for the past two weeks as they morphed the Wraith that John had dubbed Michael into a human. There were half-empty coffee and tea mugs, a rumpled tan t-shirt that he'd changed out of before going to the alpha site hanging off the edge of the couch, bits of medical equipment and computer data cards and whatnot scattered across every flat surface. He'd have to clean up at some point. But not tonight.

John wasn't the least bit surprised to find Carson slumped over his desk, asleep. He stood at the top of the stairs, debating what to do. There was a small couch over by the wall, one of Carson's shirts half on it, half on the floor. He could either try to get Carson to stay mostly asleep as he coaxed him over to the sofa. Or he could try and get him mostly awake and take him home.

He moved in a few steps, letting the door whoosh shut behind him. Carson didn't stir. The black curtains were drawn and only the small desk lamp and the laptop screen illuminated Carson's new office. The fact that the computer hadn't gone into sleep mode meant that Carson couldn't have been asleep for long. John decided to save whatever Carson had been working up and then wake him and get him back to his quarters. It had been a long couple of weeks since he and Ronon had dragged in a kicking, screaming Wraith - who had left a normal, if outraged human being.

John leaned over Carson's shoulder to hit save when his eyes fell upon email Carson had been working on. He hadn't meant to pry, but he had to hope that a subject line that read 'Resignation' didn't mean what he thought it meant.

He scanned over the brief, polite words, feeling his frown deepen; his only relief coming from the fact that the 'send' button was still black. Not gray. Carson hadn't actually sent the thing to Elizabeth yet. He closed the laptop with a quiet click, silently hoping that something would go wrong and it would delete the file.

Pretending he didn't have a clue how bad things had gotten for Carson, John knelt at his side, gently brushing the backs of his fingers against Carson's cheek. "Hey? Hey Carson, come on, wake up."

Bleary-eyed and stiff, Carson rolled his head to see who was there. "Huh? What's wrong?" He sat up slowly, looking alarmed.

John squeezed his shoulder. "It's not a medical emergency. But you're sleeping at your desk. It's time to go home."

Carson blinked a few times, trying to shove back cobwebs that seemed determine not to clear. All at once he remembered the past few days, remembered writing his resignation. He still wasn't sure if he meant it, or if he'd just needed to blow off some steam, to put down the words even if no one ever knew about it. He couldn't remember if he'd shut the laptop or not. He often left it running over night as it ran data for him or so the charts would be available for whoever came on after him. He risked a glance over to John.

He could tell by the short, sharp shake of John's head and the extreme downturn of his mouth that John had seen it. He opened his mouth to try and explain, but a yawn that would have been comic at any other time cut him off.

"Not now," John said softly, not sounding nearly as angry as Carson expected him to be. "We'll talk after you've slept."

Part of Carson prayed that by the time he'd had some sleep that he wouldn't want to leave any more and there'd be nothing to talk about. But the rest of him knew that this wasn't a snap decision made in a fit of pique after one bad day. What the sleep deprivation had kept him from realizing was that leaving Atlantis also meant leaving John. He had absolutely no romantic notions that John would give this up, give up the Air Force for him. He didn't doubt that John loved him, but he knew that he couldn't compete with a lifetime of military training and a military career. Not to mention the single biggest adventure the human beings of Earth had ever embarked on. And he would never ask him to.

"Come on," John whispered, moving back just far enough to let Carson turn his chair. "You need to sleep. For a long, long time. Then you'll tell me what's going on in your head. And we'll see what we can fix."

Carson knew John was trying to be optimistic for him, trying to be patient and understanding of something he couldn't have seen coming and couldn't understand, but it sparked a flare of anger in him nonetheless. "There is no '_fixing_' this!" he snapped. Cutting himself off, he dropped his head into his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that."

John put an arm around Carson's shoulders and gently stroked his hair with his other hand. "It's okay. But now you see why I want to wait to talk until after you've slept?"

Carson just nodded and decided to let John take command. John was good at that. When John did what he'd come to Atlantis to do people stayed safe, stayed alive. Unlike his own case. He shook himself from his increasingly downward spiral. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he could make John understand that as much as it pained him, he had to go.

Carson was exhausted; he knew that. Not in the had-a-busy-day way or in the stayed-up-a-few-extra-hours exhausted, but truly beyond his physical capacity to function properly. He wasn't sure if he was just periodically spacing out or if he'd truly started having periods of microsleep, but in any event, he'd pushed it too far this time. Thankfully he hadn't started hallucinating yet – that he knew of – but he couldn't focus his eyes and he was finding it damn near impossible to simply force them open. He leaned heavily on John as John maneuvered them through the deserted hallways.

John let them into Carson's quarters and brought the lights up to half. "Come on," he said quietly, steering Carson into the bathroom. He grabbed a cloth from the stack on the sink and ran it under warm water. "Look up," he said quietly. When Carson complied, John quickly wiped off his face. He nodded to the commode. "You're going to sleep for like a month. Might want to use the bathroom before you do." John kissed his forehead and stepped out to give him some privacy.

A few minutes later Carson staggered out. He looked almost drunk, his half-closed eyes, his staggering gait, the way he frowned in concentration as he tried to navigate the familiar confines of his own quarters. John caught his arm and led him to the bed.

Carson stood passively, letting John strip him down to his boxers before tucking him in between the sheets. He sighed heavily and forcibly pushed the events of the past several days, hell, most of his time in the Pegasus Galaxy back out of his mind. He shifted over, wondering if John had left yet. He wondered if he asked him to stay if he would or if he'd be too upset over the fact that Carson hadn't told him about his plans to leave. He was still trying to decide if he should try to find the energy to ask John to stay – to risk rejection on a night where he wasn't sure he could handle one more disappointment – when the mattress dipped. The minor motion made him feel like he was being tossed on a ship in a storm, adrenaline shot through him and he reached out to steady himself.

John caught his hand. "Sorry," he whispered sliding in next to him. "I thought you were asleep already."

Carson felt himself start to shiver as John pulled him in and wrapped his arms around him. He was more confused about where he belonged than he'd ever been in his life.

Carson slept for sixteen hours. When he finally opened his eyes, John was still there and had a tray with some soup and crackers and a glass of orange juice. He managed to stay awake long enough to eat it and to wonder when John would start with all the questions Carson was sure he had.

But he hadn't. And as soon as Carson was done eating he found himself drifting back off. He slept another five and a half hours before he actually felt rested.

He looked around, but it was clear that John had gone. He wished he were more surprised by that than he was. He scrubbed his face with his hands and trudged off for a shower.

He was in the process of washing what felt like a weeks worth of sweat and grime out of his hair when he heard someone bang on the bathroom door. "I've got food when you get out."

Carson sighed and let his head fall against the stall wall. This wasn't helping. John being so solicitous and kind and understanding was running smack up against John turning into a bug because of him, thousands of Hoffans dying because of him and the look of betrayal and loathing in Michael's eyes.

After another fifteen minutes of his thoughts running in circles, John was banging on the door again. "Get out of the shower and stop hiding from me. Your food's getting cold."

Carson couldn't understand how John could sound like he was in such a good humor when he felt like nothing less than the entire universe had come crashing down around his shoulders, but he cut off the water and grabbed a towel.

John didn't say anything as Carson pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweater. He gave him a cocky grin as Carson fell into his chair across from him at the small table where John had a tray from the mess with a large bowl of spaghetti and a small stack of bread rolls and two pieces of chocolate cream pie. Carson stared at the food, but didn't move to take anything. John just gave a theatrical sighed and served them both. "Eat," he commanded as he dug into his own.

Carson picked up his fork and poked at a strand of spaghetti that was looped off the edge of the plate.

"Feeling better?" John asked with his mouth half full.

"The ants have crawled out from behind my eyelids. It's a start I suppose." Carson admitted as he carefully twirled exactly one piece of spaghetti on his fork.

"That's not eating, that's playing, and this stuff does not get better with age, I promise you," John said.

Carson wished he'd get on with the real interrogation. Not that he had any definitive answers, but the anxiety was starting to give him an ulcer. He began tearing up a roll, occasionally managing to eat a bit of the plain bread whenever John shot him a look and pointed at his untouched plate with his fork.

John's plate was half cleared when he finally realized that Carson had no intention of eating. He shoved his plate aside. "Fine, let's do this. What was that email about?"

"I don't know if I can keep doing this." Carson continued to shred the bread, more so he didn't have to look at John than because he had any plans to eat it.

John realized that he'd been a tad harsh, but he was starting to become genuinely afraid that Carson would actually leave Atlantis, go back home on the _Daedalus_… leave him. He took a few deep breaths and calmed himself. "Doing what?" He'd had a day to contemplate what was going through Carson's mind, and he had a few good guesses as to what was eating the other man. But he'd need Carson to tell him where this discussion would start.

"All of it," Carson said quietly. "I can't live with myself like this," he finally glanced up and met John's eyes. John sat there quietly, waiting for Carson to continue. He watched as Carson very slowly and deliberately put down the shredded roll and looked him in the eye. "I'm committing genocide."

John scooted his chair over and took Carson's hand in his. "You're helping keep us safe," he countered.

"By killing off an entire people!" Carson tried to get up and move away, but John wouldn't let go of his hand.

"It's them or us, Carson; you know that. I promise you, not one of them is losing sleep about much of anything other than where their next meal is coming from. And we're that next meal."

"So because they aren't human, I'm supposed to forget my oath to do no harm and just help to wipe them all out?"

"You've given them a choice. They can live like we do – on plants and non-sentient animals – or me and my guys can blow them all to hell."

Carson started to argue that point, but there was a small bit of logic there that he couldn't deny. If he could get the retrovirus to work, there was a small chance that they could find a way to live in peace in the galaxy with a Wraith who were no longer a threat. He let his head fall forward to rest on the edge of the table. John squeezed the hand he held and reached over to rub between Carson's shoulder blades with the other one.

Carson sat up and took the mug of water from next to his plate, toying with it before taking a drink. "But we're not giving them a choice. There's no consent here. You didn't see Michael when he found out what he was. He was devastated, John."

John rubbed his thumb over Carson's hand for a few seconds, thinking. "I wonder how much of that was because of Elizabeth's hair-brained scheme to set up this whole 'normal', human life for him. It's one thing find out that you're part of an experiment, it's another to discover that you've been a victim of Stockholm's Syndrome."

Carson slumped in his seat. "Something tells me that they aren't exactly going to line up to become breakfast for their own kind, even when I get it right. I don't know if this is an answer." He took a deep breath and finally said, "And even if it is, I'm not sure I can live with having to be the one to find it. I came here to patch up the lot of you when you tripped over your own boot-laces and to work on the ATA gene. This…" He toyed with his water, not finishing his sentence.

"I get that you're the one doing the actual research, but it's not your responsibility. Elizabeth and I will be the ones making the final determination for how this thing gets used. And neither of us take that responsibility lightly. If the Wraith would get behind the idea of 'live and let live' we'd never need anything like this, but they don't. They want to eat us. I can't let that happen. And this is the best chance we have a long-term solution. Even with Rodney, Zelenka and the Genii, we can only develop so many nukes. This is something we can do about it. About them."

Carson's eyes closed as he realized exactly why this was so important to John. Why he was so desperate to take any chance they could beg, borrow or manufacture to stop the Wraith. "You think this will counter the fact that the Wraith have woken up prematurely." He was careful not to say 'the fact that you woke up the Wraith'.

John stretched his neck. "The Genii are the most technologically advanced society we've met here and they haven't even mastered atomic energy. We have the potential to save millions of lives. And yeah, if we hadn't arrived here – if I hadn't screwed up on that Hive ship… We're the descendents of the Ancients. They sank Atlantis in the hope that their future generations could finish the work they couldn't."

Carson leaned over and laid his head on John's shoulder. "It seems like too much responsibility for one or two people, or even three-hundred people. Save the universe from the Wraith… it seems like too awesome a responsibility."

"Maybe," John agreed. "But better your way – which really, if you think about it, is reversing a genetic mutation – the Wraith's ancestors were humans. I'm guessing none of them wanted to be attacked by the Iratus bug or to be mutated by it. Anyway, better that we do it your way than the Ancient's way. Because obviously, the Ancient's way … not so successful. When you get this right… everyone lives."

"Aye. They live. For about another 40 years if all goes well. They'll be susceptible to disease and injury just as we are. They won't heal the way they have, their bodies will begin to break down from old age literally centuries before a Wraith body would break down."

John kissed the top of his head. "That can be your next project, then. Once you get them sustained on real food," he poked at the congealed spaghetti on his plate, "you can work on reintegrating some of the cooler aspects of the Iratus bug. The healing thing, the long life thing. Just not the life-sucking thing."

Carson gave him a half-smile. "Sure, and after that I'll make sure we can all walk on water."

John grinned in response. "Cool. Would go a long way to cutting down the number of taxi runs I have to make to the mainland and back."

Carson chuckled softly.

John hugged him. "Feel better?" he asked again.

"Aye, a little."

"Good, then come take a walk with me," John pushed his chair back and stood up.

"Where?"

"A few places. First of all, back to your office so you can delete that damn email." He cocked his head, waiting to see if Carson would argue. They'd never actually tackled Carson's intent to leave Atlantis, but John hoped that it really was a matter of fatigue-induced depression and that now that he knew about it, he could help keep Carson from drowning in it. Which led him to the next point. "And… I sort of told Kate Heightmeyer that you'd probably be stopping by today."

Carson made a definite face at that, but surprisingly, didn't look completely pissed. "Oh, you told her that, did you?"

"Like you would have done anything different in my place? If I suddenly flipped out and said I was going to leave without telling anyone, if I stopped sleeping almost entirely and ate almost as rarely?" John raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to challenge his assertions.

Carson glared at him. "It was my experiment, I could hardly nip off for a catnap during it, now could I?"

John frowned at him. "Uh… yeah. I don't care what it takes – bring someone else up to speed on this thing or whatever - but when something's going to take weeks to run it's course, yeah, you need to go to bed. And I don't mean an hour at your desk or even a couple hours on the couch of your office."

Carson just shrugged, not really feeling like arguing.

John knelt next to his chair. "I didn't mean to get pissed. I just worry, you know?"

"I know," Carson said reaching up to stroke John's cheek. "I do. And I'm sorry I worried you."

"It's okay. I know I give you gray hairs on a regular basis. It's the life we lead. But seriously, will you go delete that email?"

Carson nodded and leaned over the few inches he had to to kiss John softy. "Aye. And if it gets in my head to write another one like it, I'll tell you first. Let you talk me out of it."

John hugged him tight. "Good."


	10. Keep Your Head Above Water

**Title:** The Human Body: Keep Your Head Above Water  
**Pairing**: John/CarsonRating: R  
**Warnings**: This story deals with the aftermath of non-consentual sex. Nothing is graphically detailed.  
**Summary:** In the aftermath of "Irresistible" John realizes that something's very wrong with Carson.  
**Words**: 13,262

**The Human Body: Keep Your Head Above Water  
by: Waldo. **

It had come to John's attention that while Rodney was smart, he was not terribly clever. The subtleties of being subtle were completely lost on the man.

Hence the fact that it was unreasonably easy to trap him into admitting that he had kept some of that potion Lucius had used on everyone. He'd seen Rodney sniffing around the vial, so he'd just put that together with some grumbling Rodney'd been doing about having lost a jump drive somewhere in his quarters and viola. "I better get back to clean your quarters before the next scout." He knew he could count on the very chagrinned members of his team along with Carson and Elizabeth to deal with Rodney.

But as he loped down the hall something else began to nag at him. He'd been teasing _Elizabeth _about the way she'd literally hung on Lucius, and he'd been implying that she and possibly Teyla were still feeling the effects of the drug and longing for Lucius' touch.

So why had Carson answered him?

He made a left where he normally would have gone straight for his own rooms and let himself into Carson's quarters. He knew that with the humiliation of the whole situation, Carson would come home to hide his head in the sand for a while, until something else made better fodder for the gossip tree.

He grabbed a beer from the fridge and tossed his vest on the bed before collapsing on the couch. He really didn't like where his thoughts were taking him. He stared at Carson's bed – neatly made with Carson's book on his pillow. Nothing seemed out of place, but John had a feeling that that may have not been the case while Lucius had been in the city.

Carson came in and barreled right past him as he headed for the balcony doors. He froze, one hand on the glass, and turned back, John's presence finally registering. "Uh… hello." Carson seemed unsure of what to say.

"Hey there. I was waiting for you." John put on his carefully polished air of nonchalance, stretching his feet out and letting his arm drape across the back of the sofa.

"So I see," Carson dropped his hand, leaving the balcony shut, and instead went to open the window near the bed.

"You okay?" John asked. Carson was still acting skittish and nervous.

"Oh, fine. I've just been feeling a tad bit claustrophobic lately. Well, not claustrophobic exactly… I don't want the air to get too stale." Carson dropped onto the side of the bed.

"Afraid the pheromones will build up?" John asked quietly.

Carson shrugged, realizing how stupid that sounded.

John put a hand out. "Come here a minute."

Carson looked over at him, but didn't move.

"Please?"

Carson let out a sigh and moved to sit with John on the sofa.

"In all likelihood," John began, "I'm being paranoid as hell and making something out of nothing. At least I hope I am."

"But?" Carson put in for him.

John took a second to study Carson's posture. He looked like someone awaiting verdict at a trial. Or maybe someone who expected to be left by their partner. John sighed himself, realizing he wasn't making this easier on either of them by stalling.

"When I was teasing Elizabeth about wanting Lucius out there… Why did you answer me?"

Carson stood quickly and began pacing, running his hand through his hair. "Oh, that was nothing. It was just that he was… I mean you were saying… you know, that we may have still been under his influence or something…"

John snagged Carson's arm when Carson's pacing took him within reach again. He tugged Carson down next to him. "Did he talk you into doing something you didn't want to do?" He tried to keep his voice gentle and tried to keep Carson close without crowding him.

"Oh, you mean like bring him back to Atlantis so everyone could be at his beck and call? Like go on an off-world mission to a planet full of Wraith to get an herb for him so he could _continue_ manipulating us? Like –"

"Like getting you into bed with him?" John cut him off, needing to get to the heart of the matter before Carson could make things even worse by verbalizing the list of things he blamed himself for.

Carson jumped up again. "Of course not, what would make you say that?" he asked, the quiver in his voice betraying him.

John didn't try and pull him back. "Because I think he may have done the same thing to Teyla and possibly Elizabeth." He hadn't actually thought it through until that second, but when Lucius had had him in that cell, he had commented about his six wives, and he realized now, that was when the idea of Lucious as a sexual predator had taken root. And now as he sat there becoming more and more convinced that he was right, John felt himself going tense, wanting to beat the shit out of that charlatan.

He took several deep breaths, willing himself to relax before Carson could interpret his hostility as anger at him and not anger at Lucius.

Carson hadn't answered him and was still pacing. "Carson?"

"It wasn't - He didn't - It wasn't like he –"

John frowned at the way Carson couldn't actually finish a sentence. "Like he raped you? 'Cause I'm starting to think that's exactly what it was."

Carson backed up until he was leaning on the wall near the open window. "It wasn't like that. I mean, it wasn't as if I told him not to," he finally whispered. "I'm sorry. I know that last year after I found out about that Mara lass, I lay down the law about seeing others. I didn't… I wasn't…"

John wanted to go to him and wrap him up in his arms, but he knew by Carson's posture that that wouldn't be welcome at that point. So he focused his energy on putting all the warmth and support he could into his words. "What I did last year was just stupid. Yeah, she was throwing herself at me, but I could have pushed her away. I didn't. You didn't have a choice. You think that because he didn't physically overpower you and pin you to the bed that you had a choice in the matter? He had you stoned on interstellar roofies. You weren't _able_ to consent. You get that, right?"

Carson just shrugged and stared at the floor. John wondered for a minute if he was making things worse. Maybe it was easier for Carson to think he'd stepped out than that he'd been raped. But he knew that eventually Carson would have to stop lying to himself and deal with this – they both would – so it was better to just have it out and open between them so they could deal with it and be done with it.

He stood up and moved to the bed, sitting down near where Carson stood, but not touching him. "Did he hurt you?"

Carson shook his head and then leaned back so that he was staring at the ceiling, the back of his head against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "In retrospect, as sex goes it was pretty awful," he gave John a slight grin, but still looked sad, "I guess I've gotten pretty used to having a partner who's in as much for me as himself. He was all hands and…" Carson shivered and then regrouped, "At the time," he said so softly John could barely hear him. "I thought I was so fortunate to have his attention. It literally never entered my mind that I was in a relationship with someone I love and that I was going to screw that up over him. Or if it did, I didn't care. I'm not even sure which anymore."

John held out a hand, hoping Carson would take it, but willing to accept that he might not. There was a long pause before Carson uncrossed his arms and took John's hand. He wouldn't let John pull him over to him, but he squeezed John's hand in his. "I'm not mad at you. I'll kill that bastard if I ever see him again, but I'm not mad at you. You were drugged. And I know you're pretty creeped out by everything now, but you haven't done anything wrong."

"Why doesn't it feel that way?" Carson asked flatly.

"Because no one likes being a victim," John said softly and then tugged on their clasped hands again. This time Carson sat next to him on the edge of the bed and leaned his head on John's shoulder. "It was out of your control. It wasn't your fault."

Carson nodded against him. "Perhaps." There was a long silence, more comfortable than not. After they'd watched the sun slip down a few more degrees through the balcony windows, Carson finally said quietly, "You're right about one thing, though."

John arched an eyebrow, surprised at the capitulation. "About what?"

"If he did it to me, he probably did it others."

John's scowl grew as he thought about Teyla, Elizabeth, Radek and others being at the mercy of that herb-enhanced freak.

"I should make sure Kate calls us all in when she gets back on the _Daedalus_ next week.

John could see that Carson looked distinctly ill at the idea of sharing what had happened to him with a member of his own staff. "Good idea. But until she gets back, you could always talk to me." He hoped that maybe if they could talk through Carson's own guilt about the whole situation before Heightmeyer got back, it wouldn't be so bad when he finally had to go in there.

John let the conversation drop at that point. It was enough that he'd gotten Carson to admit what had happened. Enough, for now, that John knew that he needed to tread lightly and carefully until Carson had had some time to put this whole miserable experience behind him.

After a while John pulled out a deck of cards and they played gin for a while, the sounds of the cards hitting the table the only noise. Normally they talked while they played, what John had seen in the field, how Carson's research was going, local gossip; but that afternoon neither of them felt much like trying to make light of what had been happening recently. John made a few abortive attempts at conversation but eventually gave up when he only got monosyllabic answers from Carson.

John won by a couple of points and as Carson put the cards away he suggested they go get dinner.

They ran into Elizabeth, Rodney and Radek in the mess hall. Once again, conversation was stilted and an awkward. John wanted to be able to tease them about their willingness to do whatever weird-ass things Lucius requested, but it wasn't funny anymore. In light of what happened to Carson, and likely others, none of it was funny anymore.

The awkwardness of it all, the frustration at not having seen what was happening began to grate on John's nerves. After he'd finished eating he excused himself and told Carson he was going for a run. Part of him felt guilty for leaving Carson alone, but he knew that the danger was gone – he'd dropped the sorry son of a bitch off in his little backwater hamlet full of vengeful women himself – but his protective instincts still told him to stay close to Carson, to be sure.

He consoled himself with the idea that maybe Carson could start finding out who else had been assaulted so they could begin helping each other patch things together. No one was going to admit to having been lured into that psychopath's bed with him sitting there. Not after as glibly as he'd been treating the whole thing that afternoon when he'd gotten back.

He changed into a pair of sweats and grabbed a water bottle before heading up into the rafters and catwalks where he could run and think and not be bothered.

He was just hitting his stride, the sound of his boots hitting the metal planks giving rhythm to his whirling thoughts. He was debating the pros and cons of asking Elizabeth for permission to go back and pull that bastard back in so that he could sit in a cell and rot for a few hundred years. He was just about to discard the idea since he was sure that Carson and the others wouldn't want to have him anywhere within the same solar system as they were when he heard another set of footsteps coming up from behind him. The steps were heavier than his and a little faster, just enough to totally ruin the meditative pattern his own footfalls made.

He stopped and leaned against a strut, taking a long pull off his water bottle. Ronon was gaining on him quickly, but slowed as he caught up. "I wasn't expecting company. What brings you up here?"

Ronon paced a small section of the catwalk, arms crossed, face tight. He seemed unsure of what to say.

"Ronon? You okay?" John pressed. He shivered at the thought of what Ronon would do if Lucius had pressed himself on Ronon the way he had Carson. There would be no stopping the Runner from hunting the man down and carrying through on the threat he'd started to make in the gateroom earlier.

"I'm fine."

"You look pissed."

Ronon glanced up at Sheppard for the first time. "So do you."

John sagged down to squat against the strut. "I'm starting to find out exactly how much damage Lucius caused."

Ronon leaned on the railing opposite him. "So am I." He started pacing again. "Look, I don't think I'm supposed to tell you this, but I'm not sure what else to do."

John raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard the other man admit to being at a loss.

"Remember him saying that he had six wives?" Ronon asked starting to pace again.

"I remember him saying he wanted to make Teyla number seven," John said as he realized that this was going exactly where he'd hoped it wasn't.

Ronon didn't say anything, he just ran his hand into the metal catwalk support. Barely opening his hand in time to turn the punch into an open-hand slap and avoiding broken knuckles.

John stood up and moved to stand closer to him, to try and look him in the eye. "She's not the only one," he said softly.

Ronon squinted at him. "You weren't under his influence."

"Not me," John said and he could see the minute Ronon understood what he meant.

"Is he okay?" Ronon said without elaborating or checking to be sure they were talking about the same person.

John shrugged. "He says he is, but who the hell knows."

Ronon turned and leaned on the banister, John wondered if he was making sure there was no one down there to hear him. "So does she. But I don't think she'd admit to being hurt if her arm were severed from her body."

"Get her to talk to Carson," John advised. "Maybe it'll help them both."

"She doesn't like people thinking she's weak."

"No one does. But it wasn't like he beat her up and held her down. She was under the influence. It's not her fault." John was starting to wonder how many times he'd have to repeat that.

Ronon nodded again, but didn't say anything for a long moment. "You gonna run some more?"

John nodded, "I'm only about a quarter of the way through my usual routine. You want to tag along?"

Ronon pulled his hair back and fastened it with one of the thongs around his wrist. "Race you to the south pier," he called out and then sprinted down the catwalk without looking to see if John was following.

Ronon beat him to the pier by more than a minute, but waited until John got there before heading back for the central tower. They walked back talking about anything and nothing, especially nothing that had to do with Lucius Lavin and his raging hormones and pheromones.

John wasn't surprised when Ronon went straight to Teyla's quarters. He went back to his own quarters to clean up and get a fresh change of clothes before heading back over to Carson's.

Carson was in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt when John arrived. He looked shocked to see John standing there when he opened the door.

"Hey."

Carson stepped back, letting John in. "I thought you'd gone for the night."

Nothing like getting to the point John wasn't sure how to address. "I figured I'd leave that up to you. Do you want me to stay tonight or would you feel better if I went back to my quarters?"

John wasn't surprised when Carson just turned his back on him and muttered something in a voice too low for John to hear. He was standing by the open window again when he turned back to look at John. With a huge sigh he finally said clearly, "Do what you like. I'm tired and I just want to go to bed."

John canted his head and studied him for a minute before moving in to sit on the couch. "I could crash over here, if you think that'll make you feel better," he suggested, trying for a middle ground.

Carson muttered again.

"I can't hear you, Carson," he said softly.

"I said, 'what would make me feel better is if you'd stop treating me like I'm going to break if you touch me.'"

John ran his fingers through his hair. He resisted the impulse to jump up and hug Carson – he knew that would simply seem patronizing now. He wondered if he could have screwed this up any more if he'd tried. "I'm sorry. That's not what I wanted you to think. But you keep standing by that window like you're afraid I'll get too close. I didn't want to freak you out."

"Any more than I already am?" There was actually far less bitterness than John had expected in the comment.

"Why don't you just tell me what you want tonight and we'll both stop trying to second guess each other," John suggested.

Carson held out a hand and John moved quickly to take it, but not any closer. "Will you stay tonight? Please? I'd like to think that this isn't going to change everything between us."

John did move to hold him then. "It won't. I promise. There may need to be a few changes in the short run, but in the long run, I'm going to be right here. Okay?"

Carson nodded against John's chest and John kissed the top of his head.

"Ready to go to sleep?"

"Aye."

John pulled the quilt and sheet back and held it while Carson crawled in. He hit the lights and crawled in next to him. He settled on his side, tucked up close to Carson, who lay on his back. He kissed his temple and laced his fingers through Carson's. "While I was running tonight I ran into someone else who was out trying to burn off some steam."

Carson looked over at him, waiting for him to finish.

"You aren't the only one this happened to," John told him gently.

"I doubted I was. In a way I'd hoped – I'd never wish this on anyone - but in another way, there's a kind of twisted relief knowing that I wasn't the only one he targeted that way." Carson knotted the sheet in his free hand, looking at it and not John as he spoke.

"I think as we move on we're going to find that this guy was a serial predator." John pulled him in close, turning him so that he could tuck Carson's back against his chest. "I want you to lean on anyone you have to while you get your brain around this, okay?"

Carson shuffled over to face John. "I think as long as I know that it won't change anything between us, I'll be okay. I spent a fair part of this afternoon worried that you'd be angry… that you'd leave, either because you blamed me for being unfaithful or because of some misguided sense of protecting me."

John snuggled him in close. "I'm right here. And I will be for as long as you'll let me."

"Get comfortable then," Carson said as he tugged the blanket up and closed his eyes.

John's hopes that the issue was sufficiently put to bed were shattered the next day. He woke up to find Carson up and gone. There were two little red pills and a note to come by the infirmary six hours after he'd taken them if he needed more. John sniffled and swallowed the pills dry. He wondered if his stuffiness had made him snore and if that had chased Carson out of the room so early.

He shrugged and trudged off to the shower figuring they could talk when he stopped by for more decongestant later.

John wished he was surprised to find that Carson was in his lab with orders not to be disturbed when John stopped by after lunch. Leslie handed him his pills and a cup of water and promised to tell Carson to contact him when he finally came out. Though, Leslie told him, Carson hadn't come out of there all morning and he'd been pretty terse with anyone who dared to go in.

John rolled his eyes knowing exactly why Carson was in such a foul mood, but not having any immediate ideas as to what to do about it. He decided not to aggravate the situation and just wait him out.

He waited for four days. They saw each other in meetings and Carson was cordial enough and John had managed (through carefully orchestrated stalking) to catch him in the infirmary instead of his lab just as his meds were wearing off. He knew there were some serious problems when Carson simply handed over the drugs without actually stopping to notice that John's cold had completely cleared up.

Deciding it was time to step things up, John went to Elizabeth.

"So… I have a few days leave time stored up," he said, leaning on her doorjamb.

Elizabeth glanced up at him. "Good morning to you too," she said sarcastically.

"Sorry," John backpedaled. "Good morning. I have a few leave days stored up," he said again.

"Something like two hundred and fifty days. I know you've never taken vacation here, but didn't you ever take them at home?" Elizabeth twirled her computer stylus around on her thumb with one hand and gestured to a seat across from her desk with the other.

"Oh, yes. Because both Antarctica and Afghanistan are both so well known for their spas and golf courses." John dropped into the chair.

Elizabeth returned his lazy smile. "Things are pretty calm here right now, so I really don't have any objections, but where are you going to go?"

"Just to the mainland. Few days of camping, just getting away for a bit." John sprawled out in the chair trying to look relaxed, but he knew Elizabeth well enough to know that the real questions were coming. He just wasn't entirely sure how he planned to answer them when they go there.

"Going by yourself?"

And there they were. "I thought I'd get Carson out of here for a while. He's been cranky since that whole thing with Lucius."

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair. "He's been in here twice now apologizing for that whole mess. I can't seem to make him understand that just because he fell prey first that that doesn't make this his fault."

John leaned forward, "Yeah, I know. I ran into Doctor Biro at lunch yesterday. She says he's been pretty hard on his staff. I figured maybe getting him out letting him just get away from everyone and all the talk and teasing and stuff…" John shrugged.

"Is there something else?" Elizabeth pressed, leaning forward, her elbows on her desk.

John shifted nervously in his chair. "If I say 'yes', can we just leave it at that?"

"Will getting him away from here help with that?"

John passed a hand through his hair. He hated this sort of verbal tap dancing, but he knew damn well that there would be no point in getting Carson to go to the mainland with him if the discussion started off with Carson pissed that he'd betrayed his secret to Elizabeth. "It would be helpful if, say, Rodney blew up a lab or something while we were gone so people had something else to discuss when we got back. He'd really like this whole sordid mess with Lucius to go away now. Failing that, I think it might help if he went away for a while." John looked at Elizabeth seriously, "Unless you have a better idea."

"I don't think I know the whole story – and I'm not asking, I'm sure if you could tell me you would and I trust that you wouldn't let a matter of base security go unaddressed – so I don't think I'm qualified to be making suggestions. How long do you think you'll need?"

Caught slightly off guard by Elizabeth's quick capitulation, John blinked for a second before finally saying, "Three nights? We'll be back on Tuesday?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Keep a radio at hand in case we need either of you or the jumper. If it looks like stretching things out a day or two more would be useful just check in."

"Colonel phone home," John said in his best E.T. voice as he pushed himself out of his chair. "Thanks Elizabeth."

"I'd say 'have fun', but something tells me this isn't that kind of trip."

John wasn't sure at first if Elizabeth was making an oblique sexual remark – and given the situation that idea made his skin crawl a little – or if she was just talking about a few duty-free days in the woods. He decided to take it as the latter before realizing that either way, she was right – this wasn't that kind of trip. He wasn't sure what it was going to take to break Carson out of his funk, but he was fucking determined to do it. "Yeah, something tells me it really won't be."

John walked back to his quarters to shove a few things into a bag, including his book and his tablet – even though it was vacation, he really needed to catch up on the reports he hadn't done in, oh, at least two weeks.

As he worked he debated the merits of actually taking the time to convince Carson that he needed this trip against packing for him and just calling him to the jumperbay and taking off. He didn't want to waste an entire afternoon arguing over whether or not Carson was uptight and in need of a break. But he also knew that with what had just happened to him, anyone trying to force Carson to do something he didn't want to do was going to go on his permanent shit list.

In the end he split the difference. He packed some clothes and the only book he found sitting on Carson's bedside table. He grabbed the portable DVD player from the closet and some DVDs they'd been waiting for a good time to watch and made sure the battery was charged. Because they were taking the jumper he didn't have to worry about getting everything they needed into a field pack, John grabbed Carson's pillow and the thermal blanket on the bed. Carson's one gripe about sleeping in the field was that he couldn't get comfortable in the impersonal bedding handed out in supply. Sleeping bags that any of a hundred people had used and pillows that blew up were just never comfortable. And if nothing else was accomplished on this trip, John wanted Carson to sleep. Without midnight calls from the infirmary or alarm clocks that were automatically programmed to go off every morning rain or shine.

He went to the mess and rounded up enough campfire-cookable food for a few days and then went to supply and got a few tanks of potable water and other camping supplies.

Then he squared his shoulders and went off to get Carson.

Carson seemed confused to see him when John came in. "Is something wrong?"

Deciding to take Elizabeth's tactic to such an abrupt greeting, John simply said, "Good afternoon to you too."

Carson scowled at himself. "I'm sorry. Did you need something?"

John mentally thought the door closed. He noticed how it made Carson flinch, but neither of them said anything about it, and Carson didn't think it back open. "I need you," he said simply waiting to see what the best tack to take would be.

"I know I've been horribly busy. I'm sorry, but I've been neglecting my research lately and Elizabeth said –"

John cut him off at that point, knowing damn well Carson was about to lie to him. "Elizabeth said we could take a long weekend on the mainland. Go down to the beach, do some swimming. Sleep late, watch birds, whatever."

"John, I can't. I have all this –"

"Is any of this going to blow up if you leave it for a few days or hand it over to someone on your staff?" John cut in.

"No, of course not, but I need to… We've yet to find out what is causing the Wraith retrovirus to have such a short effective time period. We know that Michael and the others were in contact with a Hive ship –"

"And you hiding in here has nothing to do with that! I'm the one person – as far as I know – who knows why you're hiding. The real reason. So let's go and get some distance so you can come back and quit freaking out your staff. You need some rest. You need some distance. And we have permission to go off and make sure you get both. Neither of which, will really be all that bad for me either."

Carson stiffened and turned his back on John. "You told her," he said flatly.

John could see the tension radiating off Carson. He moved slowly making sure he scuffed his feet so Carson would hear him coming. He rested his hands on Carson's shoulders. "I didn't tell her, Carson. I wouldn't do that. You don't have anything to be embarrassed or ashamed of, but I know you don't want anyone to know what happened to you. I swear I respected that. "

Carson didn't seem to be very relieved by his words. John gently spun him around. "She thinks that you're blaming yourself for bringing Lucius here. And I think that's part of it, but _I _know there's more and I think you need a few days to just decompress."

Carson sagged onto a nearby bench stool. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I trust you, I do, I… I don't know why I said that."

John leaned on the bench next to where Carson sat. "Because you're terrified that someone's going to find out that things got out of your control for a while. You're waiting for someone to slip. You or me, it doesn't matter." John hadn't really planned on having this out there or then, but it was out there now. "I think that if it did get out into the rumor mill, you might actually be relieved because then you could stop worrying about when it would happen."

Carson hung his head and shielded his eyes with one hand. John dropped into a crouch in front of him. "Come to the mainland with me for a few days so we can talk about this without being interrupted, without being overheard. Let's just go away and deal with this, okay?"

Wearily, Carson nodded. "I'm really terrorizing my staff?"

"I overheard someone in the mess the other day mentioning that he was just glad he worked for Rodney," John said with a smile Carson couldn't see. When Carson's head whipped up and he looked like a kicked puppy, John kissed his nose. "I'm kidding. I'm kidding, really. But everyone's worried. Let's go work on getting you back to your normal chipper self."

Carson nodded. "Alright. I need to go pack some things."

John stood and held out a hand. "I've got your clothes, your pillow, your book and some DVDs. What else do you need?"

Carson shrugged and indicated his computer across the room. "I should take my laptop. I have some charts to catch up on."

"Go pack it up. I'm going to radio Elizabeth and tell her we're out of here." John squeezed Carson's arm before heading out into the hall, giving Carson a minute to collect himself before being seen in public.

John landed the jumper on the southern edge of the mainland. Farther than any of the Athosians would come hunting, but in an area the botanists and zoologists had studied well enough to clear for hiking, camping and military training. There was a beautiful white sand beach that bordered a dense forest. Carson had checked out the provisions while John flew. He was so used to the minimalist style of camping that they usually engaged in on off-world missions where they were lucky enough to have the foresight to have tents and sleeping bags and a change of skivvies for the mornings. More often than not they were caught up somewhere and realized they wouldn't make it back to the gate before dawn, so they made a fire and slept on the ground as best they could.

Now he felt like he was on a photo shoot for _Field and Stream_. There was a little camp stove and a week's provisions. A tent and sleeping bags and John had even thought to grab their regular pillows instead of those heinous inflatable things that always stuck to the side of his face despite the flocking. There were a couple of folding canvas chairs and tucked into the sack for one of them was a pair of beach towels.

Clearly John had thought this through. Carson had never been much of an outdoors person before coming to Atlantis, and given that most of the time he was out in the woods it was to patch someone back together and hurry back through the gate, he still wouldn't call himself a woodsman, but he supposed that camping with all the comforts of home wouldn't be the worst vacation he'd ever been on.

They hauled everything a few dozen meters into the woods where there was a semi-permanent camp ground set up. There was a fire scar dug and lined with stones, flat ground cleared to set up tents and even a very crude outhouse a hundred or so meters away. John had had the camp set up when he'd started doing survival training with the Marines and field training with the scientists a few years ago, so the ground was well packed around the fire scar and there was a locked wooden chest with tongs and a shovel and other tools for fire building. John got a serious kick out of sending a pack of Marines off in search of a target for three days with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and three matches while he laid around the base camp, occasionally taking the jumper up to monitor their progress. So he'd done what he could to make the base comfortable.

Carson had only been out there once before – when he'd be called to collect a marine biologist who'd been stung by an insect and started swelling up like a balloon – so he hadn't had time to appreciate the camp.

John pitched the tent while Carson got the broom from the lock box and swept out the fire scar. For the time being he decided to push the reason for this impromptu vacation out of his mind and just enjoy being away for a while with no one hurt, no one in trouble and no immediate threat of Wraith breathing down their neck. When the fire pit was cleared, Carson set up the camp table and put the stove on it and the cooler under it.

John chucked their gear into the tent and then set up the chairs. It was just after noon and the late spring air was warm and clear. He was ready to either sit and talk or just sit and watch the clouds for a while. He hadn't been lying to Elizabeth when he said that he hadn't taken a vacation while at either of his last two posts. He could have taken a few weeks and gone back home after his first few months in Antarctica, but it had just seemed like too much bother considering he didn't have any family to visit and all of his friends were on some Air Force base or another. He'd never really seen the point.

But now, alone on a deserted part of a sparsely populated island, with someone he wanted to spend as much time as possible with… maybe vacations weren't so highly overrated after all. He wished they'd discovered that before they'd been forced to confront their current set of circumstances.

Carson took a canteen and filled it from one of the three-gallon water tankards. He downed about half of it before handing it to John and collapsing into the other chair.

John took a sip and set the canteen on the ground. "We couldn't have asked for better weather," he said stretching his feet out in front of him.

"Aye," Carson answered quietly, studying the white puffy clouds that drifted overhead not threatening rain in the least.

"I stuck your book in your bag. We could go down and read on the beach," John suggested.

"This is fine for now," Carson said, not taking his eyes off the sky. "It's nice just to sit still and not do anything for more than thirty seconds."

John got up and moved his chair closer to Carson's so he could hold Carson's hand in his. "Sounds good to me." He watched the clouds for a few seconds. "Wake me up if I start to snore."

Carson laughed. He knew John wasn't one to sit still for a long time very well. "Go get your book or something. I'm just going rest for a bit."

John squeezed his hand and went off to get _War and Peace_.

For the next several hours, John read and Carson watched the sky. They sat shoulder to shoulder in their separate chairs, just leaning on each other. Being indoors most of the time, Carson realized had made him miss the sky, the wide-open expanse. It wasn't that he couldn't get out to the balconies or anything while he was in the city, and he certainly had been getting his turn at going off world for missions lately, but somehow this was different. Being on solid land instead of in a floating city made him feel grounded, centered, calm in a way he hadn't been in a long time.

John closed his book and set it on the ground and stood up and stretched. "I'm going to gather up some wood and start a fire before it gets too dark."

Carson shook himself from the deep thoughts he'd settled into and rose as well. John waved him back down, "Stay here. I'm not going that far. There's usually branches and stuff downed from storms and whatever between the camp and the beach."

Standing anyway, Carson shook his head. "No, no, I'm fine. I'll go with you."

John shrugged and let Carson follow him back into the woods. They collected a few armloads of wood – enough that they could keep the fire burning through dinner and into the evening. Once the fire was good and started John grabbed the hotdogs he'd convinced the mess to turn over and began sharpening a few sticks with his bowie knife. He skewered a hot dog and handed it to Carson. "Dinner on a stick."

Carson laughed. Ever since Rodney's MALP on a stick, anything on a stick was funny. John had tried to relay a comedy routine he'd seen on t.v. once that had the repeated punchline of "jalepeno on a stick", but Carson had never really gotten the joke.

They made and ate dinner chatting companionably. Once they'd cleaned up, Carson sat in front of the fire growing quiet and thoughtful again.

John rinsed the last of the dishes in a bucket of hot water and sat down next to him, shoulder to shoulder again. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Carson smiled at him softly in the fading sunset. "I was thinking about the last time I remember the two of us sitting in front of a fire together."

John thought back, trying to remember when the last time he and Carson had both been out in the field together long enough to stay over night and not within the village they'd been visiting.

"It was… a little more than a year ago now, I suppose. We were coming back from setting up a trade agreement with a village quite far away from their stargate. I guess this was before we'd gotten in contact with Earth again – we were looking for Naquadah to make more generators while we looked for ZPMs."

John suddenly remembered the mission. "You were sick and weren't going to tell anyone."

Carson nodded, "Aye, that was the one."

John stretched out on his back, the fire on his left, thinking about that mission so long ago. How so very many things had changed since then. "Man, I can't believe how different things are now."

Carson had pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. He had his chin on his knees until John spoke and then turned to look at him, resting the side of his head on his knees instead.

"I mean, Ford was with us then. All smartass Lieutenant who was still trying to impress his C.O. We hadn't met Ronon yet. We didn't know about the _Daedalus_, and we had no contact with Earth." He gave Carson a warm smile. "I was still pretending that my interest in you was simply as a friend and colleague."

Carson wondered if the fire had suddenly flared up or if the heat he felt was his own blush. "Back then?"

John shrugged. "Yeah. I actually told Ford. It's a long and stupid story, but I told him on the condition that he never ever mention it around you. Or anyone else for that matter. And he said something that night that made me think that maybe I needed to stop being such a chicken shit." John shrugged against the dirt. "And then you got sick and something had to be done about that so…"

Carson shook his head against his legs. "I had no idea."

John smiled again. "I worked hard to keep it that way for a while. I had no idea if you'd be interested in me and I had no desire to look like an idiot in front of you."

Carson stretched out next to John, taking John's hand in his. "I'm glad you took the chance that you might look like an idiot," he said softly.

John rolled onto his side, sliding one arm over Carson's waist. "Me too." He kissed Carson softly before laying back down again.

Carson shifted up to lay his head on John's chest as they sank back into a comfortable silence, watching the flames and just enjoying their time together.

When the wood on the fire burned down to embers, John suggested they get to bed and doused the coals. He poked it with a stick a few times to get the bits underneath, but was careful not to flood the firepit. They'd need it the next day.

When everything seemed good and out, they headed into the tent. John hadn't bothered setting things up that afternoon. He'd just chucked in their sleeping bags and duffels and computer cases in a heap in the middle. He lit a lantern and hung it from the center hook of the tent. Carson began clearing their things off to the sides as John unrolled the sleeping bags. He had them out side by side when he thought to put them together. He came up behind where Carson was pulling out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt to sleep in. He wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed the side of his neck. He was very pleased when Carson didn't jump. "Want me to zip the sleeping bags together or leave them like this?"

Carson glanced down to where the bags lay side by side. His face twitched a little as he considered his answer. "Just to sleep, right?" he finally asked.

"Whatever you want," John promised.

Carson nodded then. "Let's put them together then."

John kissed the side of his head as he backed away. "Grab my clothes for me, would you?" he asked as Carson zipped his bag up and he bent down to arrange their bedding.

They changed quickly, occasionally bumping each other in the cramped quarters. With their uniforms folded and tucked to the side they climbed into the doubled sleeping bag. Carson raised his eyebrow as he saw the thermal blanket from his quarters inside of it. "Why didn't you just bring the whole bed?" he asked cheekily.

"Shut up," John said shifting around to get comfortable. "I'm trying to be nice."

"I know. And I do appreciate it." Carson shifted over onto his side, pressing his back against John's chest. John dropped an arm around his waist and they shifted and wiggled until they were comfortable. After they'd settled Carson let out a huge sigh. "This is nice."

John kissed the back of Carson's head. "Yes it is."

Carson shuffled over to face John. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble for me."

John brushed his finger down Cason's cheek. "Look at it this way: the last time I brought you out here to the mainland, I forced you to detox the hard way. I'm just making up for being a complete bastard."

Carson shrugged. "It had to be done. And if you were being a bastard, then I was being a baby. What Rodney went through after taking that Wraith enzyme was much worse. This was just…" Carson shook his head. "The whole thing seems a little surreal."

John just nodded not sure what to say since he didn't have the same perspective on the events as everyone else. He was literally the only on the expedition to have not have fallen under Lucius' spell.

"I should have known something was wrong… I never should have brought him back to Atlantis."

John stroked the back of Carson's head where it was tucked against his chest, Carson no longer able to make eye contact. Mentally, John let out a sigh of relief. They were going to get this out and hopefully done with. Then they'd still have a few days to just relax and he wouldn't have to spend the whole time looking for an opportunity to get Carson to talk.

"You didn't have a choice. He had you mind-whammied, for lack of a better word. You never would have done that on your own accord. I know you know that. You have better judgment than that – when you aren't being drugged by some hedonistic asshole."

Carson shrugged but didn't say anything. John tipped his chin up to look him in the eye, despite Carson's attempts to look away. "You did the analysis of that stuff he was drinking. You know exactly what it does to a person's brain. You know it wasn't your fault."

Carson sighed. "Intellectually, I suppose I do. But I still feel guilty as hell."

"Should Rodney and Ronon and Elizabeth and everyone else feel guilty for going along with him too?" John carefully left Teyla off the list – what had happened to her and Carson was a separate discussion.

The weak moonlight coming in through the tent window kept Carson's features in shadow, but John could tell he was struggling to find a way to say that everyone else was excused but that he was complicit in what had happened. He pushed before Carson could talk himself into some whacked out justification. "Are they? Elizabeth sent you and Teyla and Ronon off to get him that damn weed. I _told_ her there were Wraith there and that there was too much risk involved in the mission. Have you ever seen Elizabeth ignore my recommendation to play it safe?"

Carson shook his head against John's chest, clearly not much more comfortable discussing other people's odd behaviors than he was his own.

"She couldn't think straight. None of you could. Rodney was about to go around handing out jumpers…" John took a breath, feeling his ire at Lucius rise again. He continued as calmly as he could. "This guy was a menace. He knew exactly what he was doing to people. He actually talked himself into believing that he wasn't doing anything wrong – that he was just a guy everyone wanted to 'help'. He knows he was a total loser before he found that herb and that he's going to get strung up by the balls by six very pissed off women now that he's without it again. As much as you don't want to think about it, you, Elizabeth, Ronon, Rodney, Zelenka – all of you – were victims. It sucks, but it doesn't make it your fault." He started rubbing Carson's tense back through his t-shirt.

"All of us, not you," Carson pointed out.

"I was sick. I couldn't smell him," John said apologetically. He knew that the fact that he had been able to keep his wits about him was Atlantis' saving grace, but in some ways he felt a little guilty now. Carson needed someone to commiserate with and it obviously couldn't be him.

Carson sighed. "I guess we should all be thankful for that."

"Hey," John said sincerely, "You fought back too. You were so pissed at me for 'kidnapping' you, but once we got enough of that crap out of your system, you found the solution for everyone else. Not to mention keeping up one hell of a good act in order to give him that neutralizer. Rodney told me that you had them totally snowed when they came to 'rescue' you. He was sure you were still drinking the kool-aide, so to speak."

Carson thought about that. John had a point. Coming off the drug in the middle of the damn woods without any kind of supportive care to minimalize the withdrawal effects had sucked. John going all 'tough love' on him hadn't helped either, but once his head had started to clear up a little and he'd realized how stupid everyone was acting he'd dedicated himself to taking the wind out of Lucius' sails in a way that he'd never forget. And it had felt good to give him that shot – telling him that he was getting the ATA gene when in fact he was stripping him of his ability to hurt people ever again. He blew out a breath and made a conscious decision to let it go. He needed to, even letting Lucius' insanity take over another five days of his life by making him feel guilty and confused and pissed was five days too many. That man didn't deserve being dwelled upon.

"I need to let it go, don't I?" he asked quietly.

John kissed his forehead. "Will staying hung up on it accomplish anything?"

"No," Carson answered quickly knowing that John was right. He settled himself a little closer to John, "I'm still a little creeped out that I slept with him."

John growled internally. He'd hoped Carson was lumping it all in together when he said that he needed to let it go. He hated thinking that Lucius had made Carson afraid of him. They'd been together just about a year. He really didn't want to think about having to back up and start over and win Carson's trust again. Part of him wanted to make a joke – tell him that Carson owed him one after Mara, but he knew this wasn't funny. He couldn't turn being assaulted into a punchline. "Again, not your fault. Just like it's not Teyla's fault. You don't blame her, do you?"

Carson was silent for long enough that John was able to figure out exactly what Carson was thinking. "Don't you dare think that it's different for guys. We both know Teyla could have kicked his ass with one hand tied behind her back if he'd tried something when she'd been in any frame of mind to refuse him. She about castrated him for talking around her and asking me and Ronon if she was 'taken'. Teyla can take care of herself when she can think for herself. She couldn't. Neither could you. He was a fucking predator. You should have seen that bastard's face when I cornered him on the six wives thing."

"Why? What did he do?" Carson asked.

"He said something to the effect of how he never made people do things that they didn't want to do. I mentioned his six wives and he got this disgustingly smug look and said, 'sometimes all at the same time'." John screwed up his face. "He was damn lucky that I was in a cell at that point because I would have wiped that fucking expression off his face. And that was before I even knew that he'd attacked people I care about." He took a few deep breaths. Few things riled him as much as sexual predators of any kind. And this bastard seemed to take pride in his ability to coerce people into situations they'd never have been in if they'd been able to think clearly enough to kick him in the balls for suggesting they'd be interested in him. "He took pride in it, Carson. He knew he couldn't snow me into thinking that he was just this winsome, handsome guy who got anyone he wanted through honest-to-god charm. So he took pride in being a sleeze ball. I still want to kick his ass for that smarmy look he got on his face when he talked about those girls."

John deliberately released the tension building in him as he thought about it. "I better never see that bastard again. So help me these aren't idle threats."

Carson grinned into John's chest where John couldn't see him. "My knight in shining armor, eh?"

John shrugged. "Tell you what, I'll hold him still and you can beat him senseless with that stupid plant of his, okay?"

Carson laughed a little. "I don't want that damn plant and that bloody fool in the same solar system ever again."

"Fair point," John agreed. "We'll bring Teyla's sticks."

"Alright, I'm sure she'll want to get in a few licks of her own," Carson agreed.

"Sounds like a plan," John said still rubbing Carson's back. They were silent for a few minutes, but John could tell Carson hadn't fallen asleep so he asked, "You okay?"

"Aye, better than I've been in a while. I just kept thinking that… there was something I should have done. That I should have recognized that I wasn't feeling quite right or something before I brought him back. I knew he was odd when I first got there. I never really noticed when I stopped thinking he was such a daft duck and started thinking..."

"Not. Your. Fault," John said again.

"I think I get it now." He stretched up and kissed John's lips softly. "Thank you. I guess I needed someone to hit me upside the head with the idea that I'm no different than anyone else and I don't hold them accountable for what happened while under his influence."

"Exactly," John said emphatically. He squeezed Carson tight. "You'll forgive me if I still defer to you for a bit? Knowing it wasn't your fault and not having a visceral reaction are two different things. I don't expect things to be back to the way there were last week just because we talked tonight."

"Fair enough. But at the same time, don't treat me like I'm going to break. That just makes it worse. It makes me feel like I might."

John thought about that for a second. He was going to be walking a pretty thin line for a while, but he knew that it would be worth it and it would only be for a little while. Carson was resilient as hell. This too would pass given enough time.

They fell asleep after that. John woke a few times during the night and found Carson pressed against him or tangled around him and found that he felt relieved each time. He hadn't realized that he'd started to fear that what Lucius had done really would come between them.

As was usual for him, John woke at dawn. He never could sleep when it was light out. Carson was still completely unconscious and showing no signs of wanting to move any time soon. John carefully extracted himself from both Carson and the sleeping bag and dug around in his bag to get a sweatshirt, a pair of socks and his tablet.

He slipped out, leaving the tent flap open so Carson would see him when he woke. He set the coffee pot up on the camp stove and found a granola bar. They had eggs and stuff for a real breakfast, but he'd wait until Carson woke up to bother with all that.

He was on his second cup of coffee and his third nasty email to team leaders who refused to fill out their requisitions and reports correctly when Carson stumbled out of the tent. John suppressed a laugh as Carson shoved his feet into his boots and stumbled up the path to the latrine. He had a feeling that Carson's eyes weren't even open yet.

He stood and made Carson a cup of coffee and left it on the end of the table near the empty chair before sitting back down in his and pulling up the weather reports he'd downloaded before they left.

When Carson stumbled back towards camp, John thought that he was going to climb back into bed, but Carson managed to find his way to the chair with his eyes still half closed.

"Go back to bed, Carson," John laughed. "Really, it's okay."

"I'm up, I'm up," Carson muttered.

John handed him the coffee. "If you insist."

Carson took the coffee and curled into his chair as much as anyone could curl into a collapsible chair. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Not that late. You can go back to sleep. Really." John studied him from over the top of his own coffee cup. Carson was trying to pry his eyes open, but comically when he got one eye all the way open, the other one closed.

"What time is it?" Carson asked again.

"Not quite nine," John said consulting his tablet.

"That's three hours more than I'd be getting back on Atlantis," Carson said as he sipped his coffee.

"Yeah, but something tells me that the last few nights you may not have gotten much sleep. You probably have some catching up to do."

"I'm fine," Carson insisted.

John shrugged and let it go. He turned his tablet around and offered it to Carson, the weather map still displayed. "I downloaded this yesterday. It's going to be pretty warm this afternoon. I figured we'd get done whatever work we needed to do after breakfast and then go swimming after lunch."

Carson took the tablet and looked at the display. He was glad the meteorology department had taken to posting the weather updates in both Farenheit and centigrade, because he was reasonably sure he couldn't do the math at that particular moment. And the idea that it was going to be ninety-one degrees centigrade didn't make much sense at all. Thirty-two made much more sense. It also meant hot. Swimming would be good if he was awake enough at that point. "Okay," he finally replied to John's plan, his eyes slipping shut again.

John watched him for a minute, knowing Carson was oblivious if not asleep. He'd asked John not to treat him as fragile, but he was really starting to think that Carson had dragged himself out of bed simply because John had gotten up. He went to the lock box and found a small tarp and spread it on the ground near the fire scar. He then took the sleepingbags from the tent and folded them over to make additional padding. He took the coffee cup from Carson's hand and put it on the table. "Come here," he said softly as he led Carson to lie down on the pile of bedding. "Go back to sleep. I'm going to be right here finishing my reports."

Curling up on his side, Carson nodded.

John shook his head. It probably would have been easier for them both to have gone back into the tent than for him to drag everything outside, but Carson was dead to the world again, so John figured he'd done the right thing.

He knew it would be a few weeks of finding these little compromises until Carson felt a little more secure and actually believed all the things he'd said that night about understanding that none of what had happened with Lucius being his fault.

John figured that the afternoon would be interesting – Carson would eventually figure out that John hadn't packed swim trunks for either of them. He wondered if Carson had ever gone skinny-dipping with anyone before. He guessed he could find out once Carson had gotten a little more sleep.

Carson slept for the better part of another hour. He woke to the smells of bacon and eggs. He eventually dragged himself up off the pile of blankets and stumbled over to where John was reheating the coffee and making breakfast.

He blinked at the bread. "What happened to the toast?" he asked, his voice still scratchy from sleep.

"Nothing _happened_ to it. I cut a hole in it." John held up the piece he was working on, the middle neatly torn out.

"Why?" Carson poured himself another cup of coffee.

"Haven't you ever had a toad in the hole?"

"Oh aye, in the creek near my house when I was a boy. What's that got to do with what happened to the toast?" Carson was trying to hide his grin behind his coffee. He'd seen what John was doing – using the holey bread with bacon under it to contain the egg as he fried everything up at once. Now he was just having fun with him.

"Were they good eating too?" John quipped sliding the concoction onto a plate and handing to Carson while he set up his own. "There's all kinds of fruit in the cooler," he said as he flipped his toad in the hole over.

Carson dug out a few oranges from the cooler and handed one to John as John put his egg on a plate. "Feel better?" John asked as he flopped into his chair and dug into his breakfast.

"Aye. Sorry I fell asleep again. I told myself I wasn't going to do that." Carson shrugged.

"No big deal. I got two more reports done. And you look a lot better than you did before. You couldn't even keep your eyes open."

Carson blushed and hung his head. "I don't think I've slept this much at a stretch since before going to Antarctica in the first place."

"You needed it," John said pulling his bowie knife out of his boot and cutting into his orange.

"Oh now that's not very sanitary," Carson griped.

John rolled his eyes. "What? Afraid I'll die of eating foot fungus?" John sliced his orange the other way.

"Now _that's_ just bloody disgusting," Carson said tearing into the peel of his orange with his nails.

"I figured if it hasn't killed me in almost twenty years of active service, it's not likely to." John made sure Carson was looking before biting into the orange he'd just cut with his very unsanitary knife.

"I should make you rinse your mouth out with peroxide before you get any grand plans about kissing me." Carson shook his head and went back to peeling his orange.

"Because I suppose you scrubbed your hands with surgical soap before doing that," John shot back.

"That's different. Do you know how many germs live in shoes? You could have at least passed the blade through the fire on the stove. Killed off the surface layer or something…"

John just popped another slice of orange in his mouth. When he was sure Carson wasn't looking, he bit into the pulp and wrapped his lips around the rind so that it covered his teeth. When Carson looked up again John gave him an orange peel grin.

Carson nearly choked on his own orange at the sight. "You're a great big six-year-old, you know that?" Carson asked him, still laughing.

John just shrugged, keeping the orange in place and bouncing around in his chair. Carson threw a piece of his orange at him. John looked for something to throw back but had eaten all of his breakfast. He bit off the pulp and swallowed it and spit the peel back onto his plate. "Made you laugh," he said with a real grin.

"Aye," Carson said with an answering smile. "I suppose it did."

They did the dishes and dragged the sleeping bags back into the tent before they both finally climbed out of the clothes they'd slept in and put on jeans and t-shirts. It wasn't even noon yet, but the day was already promising to be quite warm.

They grabbed the beach towels and headed up to where there was a small grassy meadow a kilometer or so away to get their work done for the day. John had a few more reports to read and sign off on and Carson had patient charts to review and update.

They lay head to head on the towels poking at their computers and occasionally grumbling about people in their various divisions who couldn't seem to get things right. After about three very productive hours, the heat and the need for lunch brought them back to camp.

Cold sandwiches and chips were sufficient for lunch. Neither of them wanted to stand over the campstove or start a fire. The each got another hour of work done there in camp before deciding they'd done enough for a day they were officially off duty.

Carson stood up to tuck his computer back in its case and John came up behind him and rested his hands lightly on Carson's hips. "Want to go swimming now?"

Carson straightened up but turned slowly to stay in the circle of John's arms. "I looked for a pair of shorts in my bag this morning and didn't see anything."

John kissed him softly. "Who needs shorts?"

Carson realized what he was saying immediately. "Oh, you are not suggesting…"

"Why not? There's no one out here."

Carson took half a step back. John let him go, but kept his hands on his hips. "John," Carson warned sternly.

"I'll behave," John promised. "But come on, when was the last time you got to go skinny dipping?"

Carson studied the dirt under his feet and muttered something.

"What?" John asked, an impish grin still on his face.

"I said," Carson enunciated clearly looking up to look John in the eye challengingly. "I have never been skinny dipping before. Alright?"

John tugged Carson back in. If Carson balked one more time, John would let him win. But he'd said he didn't want to be treated as fragile and little innocent skinny dip would be a good way to show that he wasn't going to do that. And by behaving himself he'd show that he wasn't going to push either. "Then it's about damn time you tried it. It's fun. Come on."

Carson stood rooted to his spot, clearly thinking about it. "I'm not going to get bit on the arse by some kind of mutant shark or something?"

"If that's what you're worried about, do you really think a pair of Speedos is going to matter?" John teased.

"Do you actually think that I'd be caught dead in a pair of Speedos anywhere at any time?" Carson teased back.

"I rest my case. Come on. Grab your towel and let's go."

Carson sighed. "The things I let you talk me into."

John held hands with him as they made their way down the short path to the beach. It was kind of nice to be able to do all the things they couldn't do in Atlantis without having to worry.

When they got down to the beach, John led them about twenty meters down the beach to where a tree limb grew low and parallel to the ground. "Towel rack," John said as he tossed his towel over the limb and started stripping out of his clothes.

Carson still thought this idea was a little daft, but he fatalistically shucked his shirt and shoes. John was bareass naked and wading in the surf by the time Carson decided to just grin and bare it.

The water was refreshingly cool as he caught up to John and they both moved out until the water was ebbing and flowing around their chests. When the waves came in, they jumped up letting the wave carry them up and back before being set down gently a little closer to the shore. When they got too far back they waded back out and did it again.

After a bit John noticed the waves coming up a little higher down the beach. "Let's go down there."

They half-swam, half-waded a few hundred meters down the beach to where the waves were kicking up higher, but not dangerously so. "On the western shore the waves come up and hit a reef or something – I want to get my surfboard out there some day," John said as they jumped the waves.

"Have fun. I'll be on the shore waiting to put you back together when you hit that 'reef or something'." Carson had hit his risk-taking limit for a while.

John just smiled at him as the next wave came in. Carson, apparently distracted didn't jump in time and the wave washed over his head. John reached out and grabbed his arm. The water wasn't deep enough that Carson wouldn't be able to get his footing again, and there was no noticeable undertow, but John took advantage of the chance to grab hold of Carson and pull him up against his body. When Carson looped his hands over John's head and kissed him, John slid his arms down and around Carson's waist, holding him tight. "Having fun?" he asked when they came up for air.

"Aye. I suppose I am," Carson said kissing him again.

"Want to go a little further down?" John stepped back just a bit for Carson before he had to deal with his body wanting to do what it usually did when Carson was naked and pressed against him.

"Sure," Carson said, taking John's hand as they headed another half-klick down the beach.

They'd lost track of time somewhere and when John looked up again, he noticed that the edge of the sky was starting to turn lovely shades of pink and orange and yellow. He pulled Carson in for another kiss. "We should head back." He pointed to where the sun had started to slip below the water.

Carson looked up, following John's finger, but it was what he saw when he turned the other way that made him worry. "Oh bugger. We better do it soon, too."

John looked up and saw the large dark storm clouds that had started to appear behind them. He'd thought it was only getting dark because it was getting late. "Uh oh… looks like we may get even wetter," John said fatalistically.

They swam back along the shore at a decent rate, but the storm clouds moved faster and all at once they were getting wet from above and below. When they got back to where they'd left their clothes, everything was soaked, including their towels. "Aw hell," John said laughing as he collected his sodden things.

"Bugger," Carson agreed getting his things and shoving his feet into his wet shoes. He wrapped his wet towel across his middle and headed back up the path behind John.

When they got to their camp, John pulled on his wet shorts and t-shirt and ran about making sure the camp stove was collapsed and he tossed the tarp from that morning over the fire scar and the small pile of wood they had collected earlier. Carson struggled into his wet jeans and then took some of the larger rocks he found and pinned down the corners of the tarp.

He folded up the chairs and laid them under the table, not really sure if that would be helpful or not while John dragged the cooler and dry food box next to the tent.

The rain was coming down in torrents when they dove into the tent.

"Oh holy hell," John laughed as he reached up to fasten the tent flaps. The rain was loud over their heads, but they were safely out of its reach.

Carson quickly kicked his shoes over to the corner and shimmied out of his wet pants before looking around for something he could use to dry off.

John shucked his clothes and then gathered up both his and Carson's soaked things and tossed them back out into the rain. "We're going to need to rinse all that off tomorrow and get some plastic bags out of the jumper for them." He dug through his bag until he found the small towel he'd wrapped his razor and comb and soap bar in. He handed it to Carson. "Here."

Carson passed it over his hair to keep it from dripping into his eyes any more than it had and then dried his face. He flopped back on the sleepingbag. "Well, that was a rather unexpected end to our swim."

John took the towel and dried his hair and face as Carson had and then tucked laid it over his bag to dry. "You're covered in goosebumps," John observed, tracing one finger over Carson's arm.

"It got a mite chilly when that rain started," he answered.

"Come on, crawl in," John said as he scooted into his own side of the sleeping bag. Carson did the same and curled up against John's chest. He was shivering from the cold, such a stark contrast to when they'd been in the meadow hot under a bright sun.

John ran his hands up and down Carson's back trying to warm him. "Well, I'd say that put a dampener on our day, but that would be a bad pun."

"And of course, you'd never make a bad pun," Carson agreed sarcastically, pulling the thermal blanket closer around himself and John.

"Of course not," John said and just as he leaned into kiss Carson, Carson let out a jaw-cracking yawn. "Tired?" he asked instead.

"I know I shouldn't be. I slept all bloody morning," Carson said as he covered his mouth from yet another yawn.

"It was a bit of an exciting afternoon. Long swim followed by a mad dash." John shrugged, still rubbing Carson's back trying to warm him up. "You want me to get you some dry clothes? You're still cold."

"I'll warm up in a minute," Carson said plastering himself against John even tighter.

John wrapped his arms tightly around Carson. "You want me to grab you something to eat before you fall asleep?" John asked as Carson yawned yet again.

"I don't know what my problem is," Carson complained.

John kissed his forehead. "You didn't sleep for four days is what your problem is. Don't worry about it. It's not like we can go out and do something right now anyway. Go to sleep," John said quietly settling them into a more comfortable position.

The rain beat a steady tattoo on the dome of the tent for most of the night. John lay still until he was certain that Carson was sound asleep again before he grabbed his computer and balanced it on his bag and played Solitaire until he felt himself lulled into the same calm, drowsy place the rain had led Carson to.

They had two more days to lie around and talk. Maybe go swimming again if they walked down to the jumper and checked to be sure there weren't any more flash storms brewing. And, he hoped, Carson would be in a better place when he got back. The talking they'd done the night before seemed to have made a world of difference in Carson's mood. John shut his computer and curled back up with Carson, tugging Carson's arm around his back as he settled Carson's head on his shoulder again.

He squeezed him tight and dropped a kiss onto his temple. He could feel the softness of the muscles in Carson's shoulders and back. Such a stark contrast to the way he'd been when John had held him the night before – all tension and anxiety. John let his hands drift over the smooth, warm skin. Carson mumbled in his sleep, shifting a little before getting comfortable and dropping back off.

He knew that recovery from something like what Lucius had done wasn't accomplished with one conversation and a few days on the beach. But it looked like those things could make for a very good start. And Carson was resilient as hell, he'd get past this soon enough. He took heart that Carson was ready to run to him now instead of away from him as he had at first.

Kate would be back on the _Daedalus _tomorrow and if Elizabeth hadn't filled her in on the insanity that had been life around Lucius Lavin, John and Carson could bring her up to speed when they got back. And then Carson would have at least three people he could talk to when he needed to: Kate, Teyla and himself.

John hadn't realized how much the whole situation had made him tense. He could feel a looseness in his muscles that he hadn't felt in days. It was good to be getting back to normal. For whatever passed as 'normal' in the Pegasus galaxy, anyway.

He kissed Carson's shoulder. "I love you," he whispered and he swore he felt Carson's arm tighten around him in response even though the other man never woke.


End file.
